Chapter 2: Disinfectant Wipes (3/3)
Enter Conspiracy Dave
As in the tales of yore, old maids are the harbingers of doom and in our tale of invent-ory they will play a pivotal role. Early on in our saga, the nattering nittys would gather and chatter in the aisles of the shop late one Tuesday evening. Here I found two older ladies whispering and sharing videos on their phone.
"I just can't believe this" … "This is happening in China?" … "Yes." … "It's bad huh" … "It just looks terrible" … "What should we do? What should we do?"
I saddled along side of them and they immediately shoved their phone in my face.
What I saw was grainy footage of horrific scenes of people falling dead in the street, being trapped in their homes, and an array of nightmarish collages featuring the elderly succumbing to some sort of overwhelming death.
"Don't believe everything you see from China." I said wryly.
"Oh this is really happening” … “I know because this was forwarded from a friend of mine who has a friend in China" … "Yeah I've seen that too” … “Oh, it's definitely real."
They made their way towards the Clorox wipes. "How many of these can we buy?" Like with masks, I started to wonder if I should begin to subdivide wet rolls of wipes inside of each wipe container. "How many!?" She interrupted my train of thought. "Oh I don't know let's say … 4?”
(Bear in mind as you read through Invent-ory, that what we typically sell out of that week we do not see for at least a few weeks—if not a few months. In the case of disinfecting wipes, however we would not see them back in stock. Of all the invent-ory, it would be the one thing that we would not see again.)
Conspiracy Dave.
Later on that night, as I was closing, Conspiracy Dave walked in the door. Conspiracy Dave, to me, was a harrowing sight. For one, my name is also Dave, and I too have a bent for intriguing theories about the way the world really works. As I looked into Dave's eyes, with his shy and melancholic dachshund cradled in his arms, I saw a future version of myself which made me shutter. Was I to end up as conspiracy Dave? Was I destined to live a life of solitude and wide-eyed delusions?
He says: "You know, Dave, I know you know certain things about the way things are. I know you know—some things that I know. You know that China has got some problems with their wet markets. There's been a number of viruses that have gone from animal to human transmission throughout the last few years. I'm really worried about this new one—I think this might be the big one. I know you know that the news doesn't tell you everything that's true about China. I'm really concerned about this one. I think this might be the big one."
"We'll see,” I said. “Don't believe everything you hear from China."
"Oh I know Dave, that's why I like you. You know what I know and you know that I know that China you know, you just can't believe everything you hear from the Communist Party."
Conspiracy Dave and his dachshund would become recurring characters in the saga of 20-20. Of course, like with most people, I grew to have an affection for him and we look forward to our visits, which would invariably come 15 to 10 minutes to close. The topics would come to be controversial so much that I would have to be wary of who was in earshot of our quick but informative exchanges.
In a few days our wipes shelves were barren.
We would routinely get calls, as we would over the next months, for each of these items that we would run out of. People would call and say: "I know this is a stupid question, but do you have any _________?" but in the next few days we would not only run out of Clorox wipes but anything that could be used to make wipes—including aloe essential oils and rubbing alcohol.
From now on wipes were destined for the “front lines,” we would never see these psychological security blankets again.
Next week: Boston officially locks down…
