Pandemic Pandemonium
Pandemic pandemonium happens a lot lately in our house. I’ve had my share of pandemic predicaments since the whole quarantine, shutdown, lockusup, keepusapart, and hopeforthebest thing started.
Nothing much changed for my little family; two of us were retired and hanging around the house before the lockdown, and the other family member, a millennial, was already sleeping all day as often as he could, when the governor of Nevada said, “Look, I’m shutting the casinos. Stay home.” And then everyone ignored him.
That day felt like the End of the World. The casinos NEVER close unless someone implodes one and builds new. I’m surprised they bother with locks on the doors.
I drove up to Sunrise Mtn last week to take Sugar for a little hike. On the way there, the streets were filled with people. People walking in groups with kids and other parents, kids hanging out on their bikes in groups, a quartet of women hiking in close formation up Sunrise. Maybe three of them were wearing masks. I wasn’t even wearing a mask.
The first time I wore a mask was yesterday, almost a month after the shutdown order. I wanted to go to 7-11, because I hadn’t been out of the house in a week and a trip around the block and up a few was exciting. I wore my bicycle mask and sunglasses inside the car and felt like a movie star. Or a bank robber. It was a toss up.
I joked on the phone with friends not long after the stay at home order began that babies born nine months hence will be named Covid, little Quarantino, and Lockdown–the five year-old over there playing with his parents’s–I mean, his–toy handcuffs. Voila–before the month was out, along came twins in India named Corona and Covid, and to different parents in India, little Sanitiser. I thought Indians had more sense. Their substitute teachers will not be pleased. But, “naming the new babies of the pandemic” sounds almost biblical.
There might be a toddler christened Toilet Paper too, but that’s a little tacky–in more ways than one.
When this whole thing started, I was motivated. I started a new blog, which I plan to take down soon (because two is one too many), and I wrote a book, made up of the 101 Things To Do While You’re Quarantined and How to Survive the Toilet Paper Apocalypse, and published it on Amazon.
It was free for one day and 1500 cheapskates downloaded it. Just imagine if I’d kept the $2.99 price tag on it.
The motivation wore off and I started paying attention to what was going on around me. Masks are a big item. They seem to take up most of everyone’s day: Where to find one, how to wear one, where to find one, what to do when you can’t find one, how to make one, where to find one, how hot they are, how much people hate them, and where to find one.
Bicycle masks and motorcycle helmets are excellent stand ins. I remembered my bicycle mask in the car–I whip it out when some pollution perp fouls the air. It has carbon filters on it too, which medical masks don’t. And some motorcycle helmets are gruesome enough to protect against germs and scare children. A most excellent BOGO. There’s scuba gear, too. I figure a snorkel and swim mask would work great.
In the midst of it all, I lost track of the days. This had not happened to me before the Shutdowntheentireworld order, even though I’ve been retired for five years, but the pool had closed and I forgot what day it was. I wasn’t shopping, going for pedicures, or going to the pool–nothing.
Not even the calendar can help in these situations. It’s like your mom telling you to “Look it up in the dictionary” if you didn’t know how to spell a word. What was that about? If you don’t know how to spell it, how you gonna find it in the dictionary? She didn’t know how to spell squat, is what happened.
I have a days of the week vitamin container, though, that I pull out every day, Monday through Saturday. It has a Sunday box, but I take a day off on Sundays. It was vitally important one morning to know what day it was, otherwise my supplements would be off by one day. That would be terrible.
Don and I had a fight over it one morning a few weeks ago, proving we are old, definitely retired, and had been quarantined way too long. I asked him if it was Monday or Tuesday and he said, “It’s Sunday.”
I said, “It is not! Yesterday was Sunday! Now tell me if it’s Monday or Tuesday!”
He said, “If you know what day it is, why are you asking me?”
“Because I don’t know what day it is! Monday or Tuesday!” (My vitamin container wasn’t saying a word and they are notoriously unhelpful anyway.)
So I marched over to my phone where I’d left it in the living room, and it said Monday, March the blah blah. “Aha!” I yelled. “It’s Monday!”
He said, “What happened to Sunday?” Because he will argue with me, but not the precious phone.
We both lost a day on either end and will need testing of some kind when this is all over.
