Originally written for
the 18th of April 2020. Yes, I am that slow.
It has been a little over a week since I left my quarantine
and entered national lockdown. After this, I am expecting to be moved to social
isolation and have my mom insist that these are all different things. I don’t
want to complain that things are monotonous though, there are some differences
between my time in quarantine and now. I no longer text the government to take
out the trash, but the dog. I traded in my pyjama pants for sweatpants. I stopped
watching Greek drama and began watching Cocomelon and Baby Shark. At this
point, it might be useful for me to mention that I am cohabiting with a two-year-old;
otherwise, my viewing choices sounded a bit too weird. But the biggest
difference is that I go out of the house; I have even been to a mini-market and
a supermarket. I see neighbours, I see humans!
From afar, but it still counts.
The things that will follow are not complaints, by the way.
I am very happy that people are careful about not getting themselves or others
sick. It certainly makes things less stressful for this anxiety driven blogger.
But social norms are different. I went to buy newspapers for my dad and during
any other time, had I shown up like that, the storeowner would have called the
police. He would have thought I was wearing a face mask/sunglasses duo so I
wouldn’t be recognised and latex gloves so I wouldn’t leave any fingerprints. Yet,
he greeted me like the customer I was. I should have robbed him; the world is
becoming too gullible. He then left the newspaper on a porch outside his store,
to avoid contact. He pulled back when I approached to pay with my debit card
and I know it was not because I stank. I mean I did, but that was not the
reason. It was a new social norm that didn’t need to be analysed any further,
yet here we are. Analysing.
Walks have been more tricky than purchases, mostly because I
usually have Leyla on the leash. Leyla is a gorgeous New Foundland with a heart
of gold. And an appetite for dog shit. So two things happen; one, everyone
wants to pet her. Two, everyone used to pet her so she is expecting royal
treatment on our walks. She is a jaw dropper. People stop their cars to get a
better look and say something usually stupid, usually in a squeaky voice. I don’t
blame them, that is 85% of my interaction with her too. But it has been very
hard stopping people from actually petting her. She has plenty of people who
know her around the area and when they cross paths there is jumping and
howling. And Leyla gets excited too. I will never get over the first time a
friendly gentleman coughed all over her face. The same face I would later pet. Turns
out he is a heavy smoker, and that is either a cigarette cough, or coronavirus
has actually been around for, like, a decade. Being who I am though, we
showered her in antiseptic. She thought we were petting her so it was fine and
her fur is as smooth as ever. Most of her local friends we have decided to
categorise as necessary risks, but anyone else is out of order. I have become
Indiana Jones, but with a leash. Worst part is, walking a dog is usually a good
excuse to get out of the house for a bit, get a change of scenery. However,
this particular dog is even less fit than I am and that is an accomplishment considering
she doesn’t have a Netflix account. So our walks finish five meters away from
our front door. And then we feed her ice cubes for rehabilitation.
Social norms are different. We were face masks, we tip
delivery drivers in advance, we arch our back to avoid spit molecules and move
from pavement to pavement like playing Mario Kart and encountering banana peels.
We have been here before so I am confident we will leave this behind again. I
just want to close this post by saying that me and my housemate were doing the
elbow bump when either was sick long before the rona. We deserve royalties.
This is hysterical.
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