My Turn: Mallomars help one Long Islander get through fall

Ah yes, the pumpkins, the leaf raking, the cider, Halloween — yeah, yeah whatever.

The beginning of fall this year is a bit different.

I find my life, like many other people’s lives nowadays, akin to a country western song.

I have no man, no job, no money. I’m 60 years old, and my mother buys my groceries and all of my meals. Sort of the female version of George Costanza. Pretty humiliating.

Yet, I find myself luckier than most. None of my family or friends have died from COVID-19. I have a gel pedicure and a pure-breed Himalayan that eats only prescription food.

Every day brings another rejection letter, after daily job searches. For 800 days straight, and it’s been frustrating. Daily disappointment, and rejection — sort of like dating.

I fear even the smallest obstacle or happening now can kick me over the edge of sanity. I have become hypersensitive to things that never really bothered me before.

I drive to my local Stop & Shop in New Hyde Park after my daily tennis game in a summer outfit, even though it’s almost fall. It’s sunny, gorgeous and warm. Even though I am dreading my daily dose of disappointment, there’s been no bad news yet today — however, there is an imperceptible feeling that today could be the day. I still push on, clinging to whatever dignity I have left.

As I walk through the electric double doors into the produce department, it happens.

Oh, God! Not here. Not in public. I look for the cherries in their usual spot, but they are not there. My heart starts to race, I feel myself sweating. Maybe it’s the mask.

No!

I quickly scoot around the aisle to the only other place the Cherries could be in the expensive aisle with the exotic fruit, and there are no cherries! No, no, no!

Not this, not now — I start muttering out loud. Why, why, why? I can’t.

And that’s when he makes eye contact and starts walking toward me.

I’m breathing loudly and spiraling downward into catastrophe. I look up, and it’s John, the produce manager.

"Nancy, are you ok? Can I get you anything?"

"John," I say. "What is happening? Where are the [expletive] cherries?!"

"Nan, you know this time would come. We have this discussion every year. Come on. What else can I get you?"

"John," I explain, "it’s 80 degrees. I played tennis outside today, in this tank top … I can’t handle this today … All I have left is cherries and Diet Coke. Please …"

John chuckles and walks away.

As I walk away, my cart loaded with heartbreak, I cannot focus.

What else do I need in this store? Nothing. I don’t need anything else. OMG. I’m like the walking dead.

OK, life. You win. I give. I’m waving the white flag. I can’t do this anymore.

For the first time in a year, I am glad I am wearing a mask. I don’t need people staring at me anymore as I mutter by.

And then, suddenly, I turn the corner and I see them.

A wall of Mallomars.

And I think to myself: Thank you, Jesus.

Not a moment too soon. I guess it is really fall. Maybe it will be OK.

As I start loading up my empty cart, two hands and six boxes at a time, I think to myself: "Well, at least there are Mallomars. Maybe fall isn’t so bad after all.

Nancy Granatoor,

Floral Park