When the price of a latte inched up towards 6 dollars I did a double take but once you're there at the touch screen confirming the transaction there's no turning back. After the pandemic, once the initial euphoria of being out and about again among your fellow citizens in a bustly city environment, it gradually began to dawn that the new world we we're living in was more expensive. With each new incremental price rise ($18.50 for 3 tacos?) you raised your eyebrows silently, complained internally then moved on. Lately I've developed an iced oat latte habit (one of the few splurges I allow myself during a work week in which I bring a packed lunch every day) which has now in some places surpassed 7 dollars. That seems like a lot. It is a lot. Occasionally I'll switch to an iced tea or an iced Americano. There usually a couple of bucks cheaper. This week I ordered an iced Americano and was surprised to see that it approached 6 dollars. Oh well. The next day the same drink was 6.50. I said something. To the cashier and to the barista. Was there a mistake? I expressed my dissatisfaction to the staff but thanked them and paid. I then felt very petty. I hate feeling petty. I hate having to even be aware of these fluctuations. It seems anti-human somehow being at the mercy of markets like un-natural weather patterns.

Later that day I remembered a brief interaction I had with a telemarketer who called about solar energy. I try to be polite with these bealeagured souls who have a thankless job. But having been bothered by these energy companies repeatedly I cut her off saying, "sorry I keep getting these calls and I'm really not interested." Her small defeated voice came back to me weakly, as if I had broken this poor woman. "Okay." I felt terrible. What kind of system are we living in that causes us to scramble around like some demented game of musical chairs with the CEO's arbitrarily starting and stopping the song?

That same feeling resurfaced when I went to my local Walgreens to pick up a prescription. Pharmacy chains have become something really quietly apocalyptic in the last few years, especially in the city. Nearly anything of value is locked behind glass and the act of getting your hands on an item has become a sort of joyless treasure hunt as you press a button and wait for an attendant to arrive. When I was there an older man was ranting about trying to find Neutrogena and trying in vain to get someone's attention. When I walked out, the line from the registers snaked beyond its allotted area and halfway past the Lindt chocolate locked behind plexiglass like it was the Mona Lisa.