When Stop & Shop went on strike

Every few years, consumers are struck by the newest craze where demand exceeds supply, resulting in apocalyptic, pre-hurricanesque hysteria. In the ‘80s, the Cabbage Patch Kids ignited mayhem, and adults stampeded toy stores across the country like herds of cattle. In 1996, it was Tickle Me Elmo, whose limited supply incited violence in the aisles of Toys “R” Us, and sellers were pricing them at $1,500 apiece. With each debut of a Harry Potter book, mobs of enthusiasts pounded on bookstore doors hours before they opened.

Ten minutes ago, I pried the last container of 50/50 salad mix from an old woman’s hands in the produce aisle of Big Y.

New England shoppers within three miles of their local Stop & Shop…Godspeed.

It’s perfectly normal.

Last night Tyler had his longtime friend, Shane, sleep over. Shane brought over a cherished stuffed dog, “Queso,” named after the favorite part of his last Mexican meal. It came from The Perfect Toy, he explained, sold separately from a set which included a mother dog and her litter of six puppies.

“I think there might be one pup left, if Tyler wants it,” Shane beamed. “I really wanted the mother dog, and now she’s mine!”

I looked at Queso, with her soft, bean-filled belly and floppy, brown ears, and for a fleeting moment, I was sad for this inanimate object because she was separated from her puppies, never to see them again.

Truth be told, the moment wasn’t fleeting. I’m still sad.