A gradual process.

There's a nearby branch of a local supermarket chain shutting down by the first week in May. I heard about it by happenstance, and since that news I've been back twice and might go a couple more times if I can. Some of that's because, since the place is closing, everything's on sale, sometimes to a highly appreciable degree. And some of it's to watch what goes off the shelf, how quickly, and when. When I went in on Wednesday, it'd already been in the process for about a week, and most of the exotic and high-end cooking oils were gone, as was a good chunk of the ethnic food and home cleaning product aisles. Today, it was still going, but somewhat more slowly. Almost all the soda was gone, along with a lot of the baking stuff and dried herbs, and there was still almost no movement on the baby aisle, or on the toilet paper. Also, still a lot of grape soda, although that one doesn't surprise me.

The whole thing reminds me end-of-semester dorm cleanouts - about the only part of dorm life I miss, come to think of it. Cleanouts in generally, really; one of the best parts of life in the 92nd Street Y was the large number of laundry rooms and frequent resident turnovers, since that meant ample opportunities for Sam Starfall-style scavenging opportunities. Even in college, there were plenty of chances to get stuff people didn't want. And this was good stuff, like nice-fitting H&M pants, or backpacks, messenger bags, flatware and drinkware, upscale ballet flats, sheets and towels, matching socks, fancy skincare samples, a copy of Angels in America, even a snood. A lot of the clothing I came across in the Y got washed and donated to local fabric recycling programs. There's definitely some of that feeling for me in the store right now.

As much as the scavenging goes, being on the hunt for packets of yeast or hooded sweatshirts, there's also the sense of a gradual end. Little bits getting taken out, the empty spaces cleaned up. It's not an end I have to participate in, which goes a long way towards enjoying it instead of feeling anything sad.

And after a while, once it gets down to the last couple of aisles and more of the fresh produce is gone, I'll get to indulge in the encroaching/post-apocalyptic fantasies, the last remnants of civilization...the same sort of fascination that leads to exploring abandoned houses, really.

Definitely have to head back sometime, and see if I can stock up on canned tomatoes.