Po Boy Views
By
Phil LaMancusa
Covid Purgastory
Or
Suspended Animation
Am
I mistaken or did I just lose a year (plus) of my life? It seems so; a year.
Gone. What happened....? What happened was/is a worldwide epidemic that is
innocently enough called a ‘pandemic’ (it’s less tragic sounding on the mind, I
think) that threw a monkey wrench wet blanket buzz buster of a life style reality
change at me and then kicked me to the curb and under a bus and I still am not
allowed to hug any of my friends for commiseration, compassion and/or consolation!
The
rumor of our collective disruption began January 2020 and the hammer came down
in March: “wear a mask, practice social distancing, avoid large gatherings, and
wash your hands; rinse and repeat”. Folks are catching it and dying; this shyte
is hella serious!
Mardi
Gras 2020 was the last hurrah before the curtains started to close in like a
fade to black B movie scene. No Jazz Fest (we had already purchased tickets for
ALL the days). No French Quarter Fest or any of the other ‘Fests’ that happen
around our area (crawfish, strawberry, boudin, Satchmo etc) that I may or may
not have attended given my ability to freely choose. Any travel plans that we
might have had hatching in our fun and fantasy musings got smothered at birth
as the rest of the country, and the world, closed for business and pleasure; I
admit that that only made my wanderlust more acute.
In
the summer our local city’s free swimming pools began taking only on line
reservations for attendance; the Stallings pool (Olympic size, outdoor venue)
was limited to eight people at a time, down from an all welcome affair; the
Treme Center down to six. Museums, galleries, theaters, aquarium, Zoo and any
other alternative activities shut down like a café with a rodent infestation. Restaurants
were closing (some permanently), reopening and shutting down again in an
endless covid19 threat level tango. All around people shopping like we’re under
attack; there were shortages of paper products, hand sanitizer, disinfectants
and food products such as baking flour and yeast.
Our
lives became upended as the unemployment rate skyrocketed; the gravy train
rolled in and we caught a ride at six large a week which we did our best to
give away, our stimulus check went to a Latino church, we gave freely and even
got mostly out of debt ourselves, we got the car fixed.
Debbie
assures me that my shopping has not abated but I don’t concur; I haven’t been
to any places that pose a health risk which, until very recently, have been corner
markets, convenience stores (for lottery tickets) and any place where people
who don’t take precautions as they shop; you see, a lot of folks around here
did not take the plague (that’s what it is) seriously and it was suspect that
we could venture anywhere with safety and security because of these ignoramuses
that could very well be walking virus spreaders.
The
weather didn’t help either. We had heat, street flooding, power outages, hurricanes,
and this winter we had freezing cold. We had a political landscape that
mirrored our weather: ups and downs and downs and downs and with it my optimism
and my faith dove for the covers and hid. We hunkered down as much as humanly
possible while still trying to carry on in some type of normalcy; shopping became
for the most part, a weekly affair, buying in quantity meals ahead and stocking
up on essentials (critter food) just as the rest of the city did.
We
watched the news incessantly. We watched the numbers go up. We lost a friend
and a few acquaintances to the disease. We got tested as often as possible. We
have morning coffee with the New York Times (delivered). Happy hour became
potato chips and a cold beer in bed. We bake bread, cookies, prepare meals and
muse of things lost. Even our staff meetings for Where Y’at are on Zoom now.
We’re damn near
aliens to our friends and families, socially distanced, you might say. I catch
up with my family through electronics (cell phone, social media); my grandkids
are getting bigger and are getting virtual educations.
We
ask each other “What do you miss most?” “Where would you go eat?” “What trip
would you take?” “Who would you hug?” Pick the first three that come to mind;
GO!
I
finally scored a job, Debbie is still looking, it’s not been easy; sure the
government is still willing to kick in, but we enjoy gainful employment, the
interaction, the productivity, the work. I work with a dozen masked people; the
other day I realized that I don’t know what any of them look like, I wouldn’t
recognize them on the street (unless they were masked).
New
Orleans is a tactile city; we hug, bump, kiss, hustle and show affection to
each other and to people we just have met. We dance together and close. I’m
wrapped in a social cocoon, unable to touch or be touched; luckily I have a house
full of critters and a woman who loves me dearly. But, it still feels like I
lost a year (plus) of my life and still no one knows when our lives, as we knew
them, will return or if this really is the new reality.
We
collectively imagine our future to look like our past but I’m not sure that
that’s ever going to be possible. They talk about herd immunity. They talk of
political harmony. They talk of environmental and social safety and nurturing.
They talk as if this is the first year of the rest of our lives; they talk of
shaking off the past and bravely pulling up our big boy pants after taking it
in the shorts. They talk and talk and talk about striding boldly where no one
has gone before. Me? I just don’t know.
