I fastened a homemade mask over my face, pushed a rickety cart through the sliding doors, and immediately realized that the coronavirus did not change one of the realities of living in suburban New Jersey:

There is no social distancing in the produce aisle.

The crowd at the ShopRite in Bloomfield where I normally buy groceries was half of what it would be on a normal Sunday morning, but given the narrow aisles, that still meant this place was clogged with humanity. There was no hope that I’d get through this experience without coming within six feet of other shoppers every time I turned a corner.

That was the first jarring part of this experience. The next was just how many people seemed oblivious to what was going on around them. A few steps into the supermarket, I encountered a man testily asking an employee if the store had any avocados in the back.

“Are you SURE you’re out?" he asked.

Hey, buddy, I like guacamole as much as the next guy. But now’s not the time to get picky about the contents of your cart. Grab something and move the hell on!

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The customer, an older gentleman, wasn’t wearing a mask. I’d estimate about a third of the customers were, even after the CDC recommendation days earlier. More striking, many of the cashiers and baggers weren’t wearing masks, either. Given that employees in at least 25 ShopRites had tested positive for the coronavirus, that stunned me.

It felt like half the people in the store were treating this experience like a scene out of the Walking Dead, cautiously moving from aisle to aisle with one goal in mind -- to get the hell out of there. And the rest? It was business as usual, just another shopping trip, mindlessly checking off items on their list and grousing about empty shelves.

I ran into a man in a motorized cart barking at an employee who gently asked him to obey the six-feet rule while waiting in line. “But I was within six feet of people all the time when I was shopping!” he pointed out. He was right at the absurdity of this, and absolutely wrong for questioning her.

And the whole scene felt, well, profoundly stupid.

A short walk from this supermarket, Brookdale Park -- a gorgeous 121-acre green space -- is cordoned off with yellow tape like a giant crime scene. If you sneak under that tape and try to jog around it, police will apprehend you and chase you out. I’ve listened to enough of Gov. Murphy’s daily briefings to understand why this is necessary.

But, back in the ShopRite, I bumped into another shopper angling for the last box of taco shells, got stuck in a crowded cereal aisle when a couple was bickering over the choices (or lack thereof) and stood three feet from a cashier behind a PlexiGlas barrier that was basically useless if either of us shifted our bodies in another direction.

The voice over the loudspeaker, the wise guy with the Jersey accent who usually informs customers that ground beef is on sale for $1.99 a pound, was now pleading with customers to follow the social-distancing guidelines.

The aisles were marked for one-way traffic with big red arrows, something I hadn’t noticed until another customers pointed to the floor and told me I was going the wrong way. I felt like the worst kind of scofflaw, but when I turned my cart around to follow the rules, I immediately ran into another shopper oblivious to the new world order.

“What you’re doing is making a difference. We have enough data now to say that comfortably,” Murphy told New Jersey residents on Monday, but he added that any wavering from our social-distancing patterns could lead to disastrous results. “This is no time to spike any footballs or take our foot off the gas. This is not over, and not by a long shot.”

Look: I have no idea how much of our social-distancing success is at risk because we’re still clogging the aisles at supermarkets. They have been classified as “essential” businesses for a reason. We need food to survive.

But it was beyond clear that few of the people inside this store truly needed anything -- myself included. I wanted fresh meat to cook for dinner, but had some in our basement freezer. I wanted fruit and vegetables for the kids, but they will have to make do with the whatever I pull out of a jar or heat up in the microwave.

I get that plenty of other people might not have that option. I also know that trying to find a slot for grocery deliveries is like trying to get tickets to a Bruce Springsteen show. You need a lot of patience and even more luck.

That’s why people still have to make a harrowing trip to their neighborhood supermarket. But have to are the key words here. If my trip to ShopRite was any indication, there are too many people who don’t understand what the word essential means.

The produce aisle is guaranteed to produce one thing -- stress.

Stay away if you can. I know I will.

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Steve Politi may be reached at spoliti@njadvancemedia.com. Follow him on Twitter @StevePoliti. Find NJ.com on Facebook.