Covid19 diary part 3

You get to the store a couple of minutes before it is scheduled to open; it is already full of people. There is no toilet paper on the shelves, very little cleaning products. People are hustling. The desperation is palpable, desperation bordering on panic. There aren’t any dry beans or rice. Someone is yelling a couple of aisles over.

This is what the end of civilization feels like.

That thought as you push your cart down aisle after aisle.

The six foot separation rule is out the window, there are too many people. All you can do is hope that person you squeezed past isn’t infected or you’re not in their airstream.

Those sorts of thoughts get in your head in these situations.

You have a list but you are not consulting it, half the things are out of stock, anyway. This is survival mode or maybe stupid mode, just grabbing stuff.

You catch yourself, understanding that you need to regroup and return at another time. At check out someone is yelling at a clerk about the lack of toilet paper. She claims they didn’t get a shipment. The clerk looks scared--it’s time to go.

Work is the same but it isn’t. Did the last person in this car contaminate it? You can’t go down that hole, this is your job and you’re lucky to have work. Three-fifteen: The interim branch manager calls everyone into the office. The branch is closing, he says, management needs to know if the full time people want to continue working. We ask for clarification. The IBM looks flustered. He needs a yes or a no immediately. As it turns out, the full time people who say “yes” will be in a pool of labor for the four branches remaining open. Not having reliable transportation and considering the bus a death sentence you have to decline.

What about the two weeks paid leave of absence? A co-worker asks.

The IBM has no answers. He walks out of the room shaking his head.

The day is gorgeous as you walk home for possibly the last time. After five and a half years with the company that’s it, a vague ending. Maybe not an ending. The company seems lost, unsure what to do. The news in Italy has gone from terrible to unimaginable. Why them? Is it because they are a social people? A culture given to touching and being close? Unknown.

Wine is drank. Food is eaten. Sleep is elusive. There is no shelter in place rule but one could be coming. The next morning you drive to Target in the dark, changing the lyrics of Problems by the Sex Pistols:

Pan-dem-ic! Pan-dem-ic! The pandemic is you! Phlegm you’re gonna spew!

At ten minutes to opening two dozen people are lined up outside. More are sitting in their cars, sending wisps of exhaust into the chilly air. The store is not cleaned out, there is toilet paper. The feeling is not as desperate as it had been in Fred Meyer the previous morning. A sense of relief, maybe we’re not absolutely fucked, maybe we will actually get through this. The other shoppers seem relaxed, determined but not panicking. You buy your essentials. As you push the cart out the light is breaking over the eastern mountains turning the sky orange and pink. It is beautiful, the beginning of another beautiful day.

Be safe, be happy, and for the love of God wash your fucking hands.

Izk

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