But I just didn’t feel that sense of urgency. Not the kind that makes a person rush to stockpile milk, bread, batteries, and Charmin. I can hold on a little longer, I thought. I’d been through the Blizzard of ’78 , nor’easters, and Y2K and had never ever seen a toilet paper shortage . Surely there’d be a few rolls somewhere.

The post on the All About Franklin Facebook page on March 10 should have tipped me off: “BJ’s is out of toilet paper in case anyone wanted to know.”

Editor’s Note: This story is part of a Globe Magazine special report, appearing in print on Sunday, March 29. It was reported between March 12 and 14.


Turns out I was wrong.

Two days later, after working from home on March 12, I joined countless others on the great toilet paper chase. This is how it went.

March 12, 7:13 p.m. | Walmart, Bellingham

The toilet paper aisle is empty. “What is going on?” a nurse near me wonders. “Why would people do this?” I post a picture on Facebook and move on.

Empty toilet paper shelves at Walmart as people stocked up for the long term during the coronavirus pandemic. Stacey Myers

8:15 p.m.-ish | Market Basket, Bellingham

The parking lot looks busier than it does on weekend mornings – I’m not even going in.

8:41 p.m. | Stop and Shop, Milford

I’d skipped two grocery stores near my home because I’d heard they were out. This one is, too. I’m not worried. After another Facebook photo, I head home. When I double-check my stash, I’m suddenly not feeling so calm: I have just one backup roll. This could be a problem.

March 13, 8 a.m.

Overnight, pals in New York and Kentucky offer to mail me some. A friend on the Cape says they’re “all wiped out.” A colleague’s wife points me to Dollar Tree and Staples. A gym buddy jokingly offers to sell me a roll. And a former co-worker pulls out the Seinfeld card and asks, “They can’t spare a square?”


More bare shelves at Stop & Shop in Milford. Stacey Myers

4 p.m.-ish

My sister strikes pay dirt at a gas station convenience store in Norfolk – three four-packs. She offers to share, but I can’t. She has a four-person household, including two teens. My search continues.

5:05 p.m. | CVS, East Central Street, Franklin

A friend reports the CVS at her end of town has some TP, so I take a break from work. In the entryway: plenty of ice melt and snow scrapers. Inside: no toilet paper. I do spot plenty of weighted blankets that promise to apply “calming pressure” to help you relax and sleep. Should I?

5:21 p.m. | Dollar Tree, Franklin

Across the street, the sky above Dollar Tree is suddenly gray and foreboding. I probably should just heed the sign and move on to the next store. But I don’t. Again, no luck. I try a few more stores in town, and give up.

March 14, 11:30 a.m. | Uncle Bill’s House, Walpole

My quest has made me the butt of family jokes. (This is not a first.) I visit my uncle, Bill, who gleefully says he has a gift for me, left by my beloved late Auntie Peg. He hands me small travel-size toilet tissue that he’d just found while sorting through some of her stuff. How did she know, I wonder. My cousin Tom calls: “Did you get toilet paper yet?”

A generous friend comes to the rescue. Stacey Myers

5:33 p.m. | An Undisclosed Location

I head to a friend’s house for dinner, where I finally catch a break. Her husband orders toilet paper for his business and happens to have a secret stockpile in the basement. She didn’t want to say anything on Facebook, she says, afraid there could be a run on her house. She offers up four rolls wrapped in beautiful blue tissue. I’m beyond relieved.


MORE DISPATCHES FROM THE EDGE

Stacey Myers is a member of the Globe Magazine staff. Send comments to stacey.myers@globe.com. Follow us on Twitter @BostonGlobeMag.