TWO WEEKS. That’s the deadline I had to create this masterpiece of all-encompassing data. A cross between an autobiography and encyclopedia, combined with just a bit of investigative journalism on a very boring person, if you will.
This meant that other projects had to go by the wayside and I had to focus my normally limited attention span on something with a significant deadline that could not be adjusted, like Christmas. Except a pandemic wasn’t really on the radar of the general public yet (at least not in the United States), so everyday life kept getting in the way. The Clerk of Court had deadlines for estates that were in process. Contracts needed to be reviewed. I had to go to traffic court for people.
At the same time, most people weren’t thinking about this or visibly preparing. Those to whom I brought it up and suggested that they may need to at least think about preparing a little bit clearly looked at me as if my tin-foil hat were slipping.
After all, this was no big deal, right? Just another flu going around so what’s the problem?
Being a creature of habit, I recognized that I was going to have to start the new protocols of social interaction early. The last time I went to Court – February 25 – I got a lot of sideways looks when I declined to shake hands with other attorneys. Word was starting to get out that physical contact was a way to spread this affliction, though, and I wasn’t going to take any chances.
In fact, I got out of the courthouse without any physical contact other than from my client – an adorable special needs child who decided that she liked me and came in for a hug.
Hell, even I’m not that heartless. She held my hand as we left the courthouse.
And then I got in the car and once out of her sight sanitized like you can’t imagine. After all, children are nothing but walking petri dishes of infection, even if they are dressed in pink and purple unicorns.
When something like this is on your radar and not on other peoples’, it’s almost like you belong to a fringe religious group. You don’t generally share a lot about it, because you know that the infidels won’t understand and it’s just going to make your life more difficult.
The difference is that in this case, the true believers tended to be dressed in dad jeans and wearing a ball cap when they were out buying supplies. We recognized each other, checked out each other’s carts – what did I forget? – but never actually spoke of it. Again, it was different than a snowstorm or hurricane, where everyone knew and agreed it was coming. There might be a difference of opinion as to how severe it was going to be, but just like the 4th of July, a weather event is going to happen.
This was still being downplayed on a national level as no big deal.
I do not understand how people managed to move across the entire continent in a covered wagon. There were no stores to stop at, no mail order. You had to take it with you or do without, but at the same time there was extremely limited space. How do you decide what is “essential”?
That type of organization isn’t my forte’. It requires making lists, which I make all the time and then promptly lose.
It also means that you have to balance risks – unlike a storm, we probably won’t lose water or electricity. But just in case, is the extra propane tank for the grill filled up? Do we have enough batteries for flashlights – and computer mouses (mice?), which then leads us to the need for charging cords (all iterations, since nothing is universal) which then calls for extension cords.
But why? We aren’t going anywhere.
Unless it’s to the hospital, and recent experience with a friend taught me that (a) for all the electronics in those rooms, there are woefully few receptacles and the ones you can use are a long ways from the bed, and (b) you can do without a lot of things, but for most of us the last thing to be pried from our cold, dead fingers is not going to be a gun but rather our cell phone.
The other thing you recognize is the value of things that are the “right” size. That half-gallon jug of hand sanitizer may be more than enough and a great bargain (back then; now, not so much) but the problem is there’s only ONE, and you really need smaller bottles to go in the cars and by each door. By the time I realized that, it was too late and there were no small bottles to be had.
So we do without. Actually, we don’t do without – we just do with inconvenience. Big jugs may be comforting in some ways, but they tend to be in the way and they certainly aren’t very attractive.
The other thing that came along in the midst of this – about that 2nd week in March, when things were starting to take on an air of panic – is that we needed to change some bank accounts. After several months of effort, our estate plan was finally in place, but required that some accounts be changed into different names. Except the banks won’t let you do that, so you have to open new accounts.
Fine, I can get over to the bank to do that – one bank wasn’t problematic. They printed out the paperwork, I signed mine in the office and brought E’s back so he could sign it, sent it back in and we were ready to go.
The other bank, though, doesn’t use paper. They are all electronic. TOUCH PADS that you have to actually TOUCH. With your fingers. I brought 3 different types of stylus. Not a one of them worked.
In fairness, the lady at the bank was very understanding. While she might have thought I was a bit paranoid, they had already started sanitizing hourly and were taking steps to keep their stuff clean. She “lysoled” the touchpad in front of me.
The problem though was that E had to go in to sign. He was just a little busy at the time and getting away for an hour to deal with the bank was going to be difficult. Oh, and the bank rules required that we BOTH be physically present in the bank at the same time.
I understand the need for protocol and safeguarding accounts, but c’mon. That’s just stupid.
When we made it in eventually, it was interesting to see how things had changed. Now you could not enter the bank building without an appointment, and you waited in your car until they came to let you in. There was a huge Plexiglas shield between the nice bank lady and us, and she didn’t need to touch our driver’s license, it was fine if we just held them up for her to see.
We still had to sign the touchpad, though.
News of the spread of this pandemic was dominating the news feed now, with the staggering death tolls in Washington State and even more in New York.
Suddenly, my tin hat was becoming the fashion accessory of the season.
Soon to be joined by the face mask.
One final note today – my preparation paid off, in a way. Someone texted E wanting to know if there was a spare face mask at the hospital they could have. The answer to that is NO. Those belong to the hospital, and we don’t dip into them for personal use. Not now, not ever. But he told the friend that I might have some since I had been put on “prep duty” several weeks earlier.
That spare N-95 scored a bottle of wine.
I heard that someone traded cigars for toilet paper. I probably should have bargained harder.
ASSIGNMENT #5 – Another glass of wine, another section in your notebook. How about “Account Numbers” tonight – Bank, IRA, Investment – whatever numbers you got, write ‘em down.
You can endure anything for 20 minutes.
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