Shut It Down

“The reason we struggle with insecurity is because we compare our behind-the-scenes with everyone else’s highlight reel.”

---Stephen Furtick

Photo courtesy of Amy Bucher 

Social distancing. We all know what that is now, right? Just four months ago, some might have thought it was the new way to dump your boyfriend. No more uncomfortable talks, or claims of, “It’s not you, it’s me.” You just stop taking his calls, start going to different clubs and restaurants, and boom, done.

 Nope. If only it were that simple.  Social distancing is very generic, it's a polite way of saying, “Get the heck away from me you snoogering petri dish of peril.” It’s likely going to become the iconic phrase of 2020, and while staying at home, backing up a few feet in the grocery line, and washing your hands so often they look like chicken talons, has become our standard now, what about another kind of distancing? Has anyone considered the impact social MEDIA distancing could have?

When COVID-19 first started to ramp up, and restaurants, stores, pubs, and schools were closed, where did many of us turn?  To our digital world. To smartphones, to Tweet out every bit of outrage, disappointment, and fear. To Facebook, to post ridiculous junk science videos from YouTubers that can’t spell, but should be regarded as epidemiological experts. We researched malaria drugs to treat the virus because someone from our book group said it was real. We read “news” stories from sites that didn’t have a single editor or journalist writing or fact-checking anything, and we ran with them, plastering links all over Reddit, Tumblr, and anywhere else we could punch up on a keyboard. Then we blamed the media. Because that makes sense, right? It wasn’t us, it was them!

It’s no secret that I am a huge screen addict. Whether it’s my phone, my laptop, or my hourly Google alerts, it’s nearly constant with me, and it’s definitely been a problem from time to time. Every so often I’ve had to pull the plug, and just not engage in any of it. Normally, when I’ve stepped away it’s made me twitchy because while I’d like to call it being informed and engaged with my world, it’s really just that I’m nosier than everyone’s odd Aunt Helen, and tech-savvy enough to know how to snoop more efficiently than peering out my window with the lights off. Giving up my social media crack pipe was hard.

Then along comes the C-word. No, not that one! Corona. COVID19. The onslaught of information, misinformation, and, well, insanity, on social media became a curve no amount of isolation could flatten. Entire pages of the World Wide Web became all about mask-shaming, finger-pointing, and plain old tattling. We could instantly see that some lunatic was licking produce and posting a video of it as a “Corona challenge.” We saw armed men and women literally take to the streets to square off against nurses, who, not for nothing, had to stop caring for patients to deal with tantrums over haircuts and shoe shopping. For me, the tipping point was when some half-wit was ranting that his right to a meal at Golden Corral was more important than his elderly neighbor’s life, eloquently stating, “We’re all going to die someday anyway, why can't I have a nice meal?”

That’s when my Internet intermittent fasting plan kicked in. No, it’s not going to help me ditch the extra pounds, or repair my bank balance, but it’s done wonders for my stress level. It’s hard to stay focused and rational when you’re up to the wee small hours going down the rabbit hole of alt-whatever websites, shopping on Amazon, and Googling yet another conspiracy theory. I set up hours where no social media was allowed. I locked my phone in my desk drawer during meals. The laptop was closed and put away at 9 PM every night. OK, well, no, not every night, no one is perfect, and sure, I fell off the wagon a few times. I’m working on it. The times that I did disengage though? Those were the nights I slept better, the mornings I didn’t wake up with a pessimistic view of nearly everything. I didn’t have to look at everyone’s new hobbies, nature walks, and expert homeschooling moments and feel like an utter failure. There was way less looking around my cluttered space and comparing it to the Pinterest-perfect pantries full of kale chips and alphabetized spice racks.

Then, the unthinkable happened. I bought a puzzle. A jigsaw puzzle, with 300 pieces. Amateur hour for some, but a talented local artist, Carol Eldridge, has created one, with scenes of the harbor, sailboats, and sunny days. It should be noted, much like people who are nearsighted or can’t skip, I have almost zero ability to put together a puzzle that has more than 5 or 6 pieces. It might as well be rocket science for me. Yet that puzzle will be completed, probably this weekend. As G-d as my witness, those pieces will come together and make something suitable for framing. As we move toward opening up the outside world again, maybe we should also consider shutting down our online pursuits, or at least cutting back? That’s my plan, at least until this puzzle is done. Stay tuned, be well, and when this mess is over, come by and see the finished product!

The Grocery Gamut

“Ever consider what pets must think of us?  I mean, here we come back from the grocery store with the most amazing haul---chicken, pork, half a cow. They must think we are the greatest hunters on Earth.”

---Anne Tyler

The grocery store is pretty much the epicenter of Pandemic Panic these days. Rather than just stopping by the market, picking up some bread and milk, and going on with your day, a grocery run is now something that has to be meticulously planned, like some kind of enemy invasion. Routes are drawn, detailed lists are made, and everyone knows to make a beeline for the toilet paper aisle first because…priorities. It’s all about the strategy and intel now. People network on social media to spread the word on which store just got a truckload of bleach wipes.

Years ago, there was a show on television called “Supermarket Sweep” where contestants had a limited amount of time to race through a store and spend as much money as possible. Whoever got the priciest items in their allotted time won $5,000. I remember thinking someone owed me royalties because I did that every week without even trying that hard. I could bleed cash faster than anyone; having three kids in the house automatically means your monthly food bill is only slightly smaller than the budget for NASA. That same sweep mentality is alive and well again, only it’s not for fun, and there is no prize money involved.

Now, before you can even enter the store, you wait in a line, six feet apart. You wear a mask, and those eco-friendly reusable bags everyone has? Nope, they are so three months ago, germs you know, can’t risk it.  Shoppers are allowed into the hallowed food halls only when another shopper exits. Special hours are set aside for older shoppers or those with health issues.

To be clear: I have zero issues with any of this. My reusable bags are always lost or forgotten, a mask is a great option for hiding the three new chins I’ve grown since this whole pandemic began, and fewer people around me is a definite public safety bonus, given my near-constant crankiness. There are also directional signs on the aisles, which are all one way on an alternating pattern. Most people are ignoring the signs, which is disappointing, but honestly, understandable. It might just be the tipping point; even the most patient and compliant among us are at capacity with yet another rule, guideline, advisory, etc. I wonder if traffic cops are next, and if you get pulled over in a grocery store, do they ask, “Shopping list and coupons, please. Do you know why I stopped you today ma’am?” Still, this entire situation is so beyond normal (new or old, none of this is normal) that, of course, we’re all a little bent.

These are not the masks you're looking for

Once you’re in the store, it’s a crapshoot as to what they will have left, and how many you can buy. Personally, I think the limits are mostly reasonable. I spoke with one of the managers at the store I go to, and he explained that, especially with food, if someone comes to them and explains that they have a large family or other circumstances, they will allow some leeway on quantity and can work with customers to make sure they have what they need.

I recently read on Twitter that some talking head radio host was mad that he had to use hand sanitizer, wear a mask, and follow directional signs in a store while shopping for a toaster. And he never did find one. Based on this, he believes our country, as we know it, is now destroyed. That’s where it’s at for some people. Thousands are dead, many more are out of work, but this guy doesn’t have toast, and thus America has been wiped out of existence. Come on people. Aren’t we better than this?

That’s what it’s really about, isn’t it? Making it better? The virus, the economy, our communities; we’re in a little trouble here. It seems so trite to say, “We’re all in this together” because one, it’s a hackneyed phrase that doesn’t mean much, and two, no we aren’t actually in it together. We may all be in the same ocean, navigating the same storm, but we are not all in the same boat. Each person is facing a different set of challenges. Job losses, children needing to be homeschooled, at-risk family members, and, sadly, way too many obituaries.

We are all impatient, we are all tired of the stress, the fear, and the hassle that an ordinary errand has become. I don’t own a boat, but when I’ve sailed with friends, it’s common to wave at another boat that passes you. Maybe that’s what we need in the grocery store? Nod at someone, give them a little wave if they look stressed, and maybe don’t be quite so aggressive? We could complain all day, and full disclosure, I’m leading the way in kvetching, so I will be taking my own advice. Be well, be safe, and for cripes sake, be just a little nicer? Please and thank you.