The plague for me started at a social gathering where we
were talking about the plague. And the next week we were attempting to pack up
work and work from home. That didn’t work for me for a few weeks. I had to go
back to work because what I was sent didn’t work from home. I wasn’t the only
one. There were plenty of people working from work, all with the lights off,
trying not to draw attention. There was a whole floor full of us, pretending not
to notice that we were still at the office.
Then they broke out the hand sanitizer vats. That lasted all
of two days before they white flagged the effort. At that point most of us had
become convinced that we needed to be home. One woman was so frustrated with
the laptop she had been assigned that she scooped up her desktop from work and
took that. I’m not sure how well that was going to work, but God bless her,
anyway.
My own laptop was some 17 pound thing repurposed from the
return to lessor pile. It has little stickers on it. And it didn’t work. Then
it worked and there were connectivity issues. One by one they all became
resolved, my whole work environment eventually illuminating element by element.
And here I have been, plugging away by myself, working
somewhat similarly to what I do in the office, only without human contact. My
social event has become an online event. My writer’s group is going to computer
chat. Dating is out. It was a pain in the butt anyway, but now it’s impossible.
The adventures out are memorable, each one less routine than
the next. The people you want to see, you can’t. The people you do see, you don’t
want to. The vast majority of folks you interact with are attempting their best
behavior. Because being an ass would be pointless. There is this oddball
minority of non-compliant types, mostly milling at quickie marts and fast food
places. I am convinced most are homeless people, taking advantage of the disruption
to invade spaces they would normally be chased out of.
I had a quickie mart employee snap at me yesterday. I’ve had
a couple of people snap, including one in my apartment building. I can tell
from talking to some pals that this situation is not wearing well. As for me, I have projects. So many projects
I may be dead a few years before getting to them all. I called to offer a local
merchant of mine money for a gift certificate, in hopes it would help him stay
afloat. He nicely talked me out of it.
The shop is owned by a well endowed party and will reopen soon. They’ve
has a number of offers of cash, of which they have no need. I’ve been
attempting to ply my favorite restaurants, to the degree it is feasible. I
think half of them are in trouble. Those still operating have shortened up
their menus to some degree.
At the start of this, toilet paper disappeared. Pages of
type were spent explaining that the problem was intractable. Supply chains are
blockchain fixed to deliver one third to one half of all butt wipery to industry.
It was a failure of the capitalist system. Wipe your bums with napkins.
Then all of the toilet paper returned. Capitalism un-failed?
Some of this stuff is not the regular brands. (Quick! What’s your regular brand
of toilet paper?) It’s one step up from the ‘please poop elsewhere’ brand your
office uses but one step down from fluffy bunnies for your hind that most of us
are used to. Someday a business historian will do a survey of all of the brands
which appeared just for the plague. Toilet paper is now sale priced. Hand
sanitizer, when it appears, is going for what oven cleaner used to. Oil lost
all of its value. Saudi Arabia and Venezuela may now be safely swallowed up by
the Earth. Up may be down, but it’s not all bad news.
Beef is reportedly scarce, however here in Chicagoland it
seems pork and bacon are what’s vanishing. This week ribs disappeared. Next
week something else will take its turn on the privation lottery.
Not bad as disasters go, except for the 100,000 dead.
The corporations letting us know they care ads have
subsided. It was hard to differentiate
them. Big private ventures stuck the
boss’s puss on the ads. The guy who invented a pillow now want to sell us a
book on how he used to smoke crack. He hopes it will be a movie. Faceless
trusts flashed their logos after an ‘Up With People’ rehash. Frito Lay refused
to show us its logo, saying it didn’t matter. Our world remains flooded with artists
podcasting from basements.
At some point during this crisis metrics should have descended.
The governor of Illinois believes in it. Parts of the Federal apparatus seem to
believe in it. Our president believes in lying and selling snake oil. The
metrics say that his acting rationally would have saved 30,000 lives so far. No
telling how many people he can kill until he’s punted into the ashcan of
history come November. They have come up with the metrics we need to hit before
its safe to reopen. And we aren’t hitting them. And we’re opening back up,
anyway. Predicting something worse isn’t a matter of pessimism, but rather
logic. Wishing that the big cheeses in their ivory towers with their science
were just plain wrong hasn’t worked yet.
Then we were all enlisted as soldiers. Now this is a war and
we are all targets without weapons. A cure, widespread available testing, anything
other than the dark ages solutions are not on the horizon.
I’m not sure what will be said of this era. I suspect we
will not come out looking like stable geniuses.
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