WATERLOO REGION - It's 8:30 a.m. and I'm in line at Costco.

The Kitchener store isn't supposed to open for another hour and a half but I'm already white knuckling the handle of a shopping cart in hopes of being one of the first customers through the door.

It's not how I thought I'd spend my Friday morning. But these are desperate times.

Early in this COVID-19 pandemic I listened to experts who warned me not to panic. Supply chains would not be broken. Trucks were rolling out. Or so I was told.

But crucial items are still missing at my local grocer and have been for weeks.

Maybe I'm going at the wrong time of day or just unlucky but watching my toilet paper stock dwindle just makes me feel like I'm one day closer to having to use a rag wrapped around a stick.

But it's not just TP. My COVID-19 survival kit is lacking.

So, I'm on a mission. Call it a coronavirus quintathlon.

My quest is to comb the region for the pandemic five - toilet paper, rubber gloves, masks, hand sanitizer and disinfecting wipes. And I'm using all the hacks friends, neighbours and colleagues have passed on to try and find them.

Which is why I'm at Costco so early.

Weeks ago, before we had to ration wipe, an employee told me that toilet paper could be had for early risers. Though, he did caution that it was like the Charmin 500 with customers literally racing carts down the aisles to capture the powder room prize.

It seems I wasn't the only one to get the tip.

I'm already 15-deep in line and there are another 30 people behind me. That's when I casually mention to those around me that I used to run track in middle school and do a few lunges in a bid to psych them out.

To my surprise, they let us in an hour early and we're off. I bolt to the back corner with a sneaky shortcut through the apparel section.

And there it is: a giant toilet paper pyramid.

I rub my eyes to make sure it isn't a cotton oasis before lifting a 30-pack over my head like I'm hoisting the Stanley Cup.

I scan the aisles for the other four items but come up short. A female employee tells me they usually stock gloves, but are sold out. But as I'm checking out, she comes hustling back with some inside info. Apparently, they're selling gloves at the store's pharmacy counter.

I put my cart in reverse and beeline over. The clerk says there is one box left. Before she can tell me the size I interrupt with a "sold!"

I'm feeling pumped at this point. After all, I'm half an hour into this 'VID voyage and I've already secured toilet paper and gloves. Oh, and a giant jar of olives (impulse buy, damn you Costco).

Next stop is Princess Auto near the Kitchener-Cambridge border. It's my sleeper spot for masks, on the advice of one of my bosses.

The discarded medical gloves littering the supply store's parking lot isn't a good sign. Other quintathloners have clearly been here already. And the mask section, while large, is empty.

I shift gears for a bit.

A co-worker has suggested hitting stores near universities, his theory being that they'll be well-stocked since students are back home in hibernation.

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It's a triple miss at Sobeys, Walmart and Shoppers Drug Mart in Waterloo. More barren shelves and apologetic notes from store staff.

There's a moment of hope at Canadian Tire on Weber Street. From afar, it looks like the Purell motherlode. But as I run walk to the display while repeating "Oh my God, oh my God" over and over in my head, I realize it's just something called "spa soap."

The lines are getting longer and spilling out of stores as the day goes on. I'm keeping my social distance and others are too, which is encouraging.

But I want to limit my exposure, so it's time to end this scavenger hunt. Before I do, I make one last stop at Home Depot in Cambridge.

The line up is out the door but a man training a dog in the parking lot has everyone's attention while we wait. After weeks of isolation it feels like we're watching Cirque du Soleil. One woman is even videotaping it.

Inside, it's a familiar story - no masks, hand sanitizer or disinfecting wipes.

When I ask a customer service rep if these products are on order, she just smiles back from behind a glass partition.

"Am I in dreamland?" I ask.

"Pretty much," she replies.

So, the coronavirus quintathlon, which started with so much promise, ends with just two of the five things on my list.

If anyone has the three remaining items, I've got a giant jar of olives that I'm willing to trade.

jbrown@therecord.com

Twitter: @BrownRecord