The Long Walk--Thoughts on Lockdown

The Long Walk 

The Lockdown for Covid-19 hasn’t been a time of side-hustles, Netflix binges, and acquiring new skills for all of us. If you’re an “essential worker” like myself then you still have to work. They say if you’re self-isolating you should perform daily routines. I don’t have that luxury, so my routine hasn’t changed too much. No, it’s not been a grown-up summer camp for me. Instead, it’s long hours of people frustrated that I can’t solve their problems in ten seconds or less. God forbid that during a crisis people would give a damn about the things that really matter. And certainly, God should forbid that anyone would have to wait on a phone line for more than three minutes.

            We are both short-staffed where I work, and overwhelmed. But, surprisingly, most of the calls we receive aren’t about the economic impact of the virus itself—layoffs, loan deferments, etc. Instead, most of the calls are about petty squabbles over fees, wait times, and old scores left unsettled. I work in finance, which is my posh way of saying I work in banking. It’s not a job I ever saw myself doing, but it’s the job I have now. I don’t get any coins tossed my way on this site, so I have to hustle somehow.

            One of the things that has changed for me is my commute. I live close enough to where I work that I can just walk. This saves me the hassle of waiting on limited public transport at this time. It also means I can “social distance” and not have to be amongst others on municipal rail. Even in the best of times those trains are a bit raunchy—and not in a fun way. But, thankfully, no one on the train has ever asked me to “make it rain.” Trust me, they aren’t the sort of crowd you want to see au naturel.

            So, I’ve been takin a walk to and from work.

            On my way are several restaurants and bars; most of whom are doing take-out only during this time. Some places are shuttered completely. They are all trying their best to survive an uncertain economy. At the beginning of the lockdown I’d see people walking their dogs, their children, and themselves. Thankfully, the dogs were on leashes, not the children. Now, I just see people walking their dogs. The one regular I see now is an elderly man with long, white hair. He always carries a messenger bag that contains a small boombox. And from this satchel he’ll play Baroque music at a conservative volume. I recognized Handel’s Water Music the one morning. I usually tip my hat to him. He smiles. And not a word is spoken between us.

            The other regular I see is a cat that belongs to one of my neighbors. It’s an adorable tuxedo cat with golden eyes. It sits in a small window seat, and is either asleep when I’m going to work, or fully awake to smile at me when I come back from work. That feline has the art of “shelter in place” perfected. I wave to it, whisper, “Hello,” in a cartoonish cat voice, and then continue my “commute.”

            This morning was slightly different.

            There are several churches in my neighborhood—none of which I’ve seen the inside of, just so you know. One in particular, a Methodist church, found a novel way to celebrate Palm Sunday. Like many churches they were going to stream a service online. And since they were unable to hand out palm fronds, they left them on a small table just outside their main doors. It reminded me of the one house on your street that places a bowl of candy on their porch during Halloween. “Take one please,” the sign says. In this case there was a sign to watch services online. You could take as many palms as you want.

            I thought about taking one to place on my mother’s memorial table (a small table I set with objects familiar to her). She always attended Palm Sunday services. Corona Virus fears aside I’m a little wary of touching anything left outside in public. God knows where those palms were. I decided to move along.

            There’s a public park near me; quite a nice one too. It has a small pond (referred to as a “lake.”) and population of ducks that congregate there. There’s a Civil War monument, and another monument that reminds us to “Remember the Maine!” Truth be told, we sort of forgot about The Maine. We still haven’t resolved the fallout from the Civil War. If we had, the most recent election would have had a very different outcome.

            At the beginning of the state-wide “shelter in place” order we were told not to congregate in large numbers in public. So, Americans did what they do best. They defied any government mandate, even in their best interests, and congregated in large numbers there. Young people, who otherwise would ignore their elders, were now talking to them on park benches. People who otherwise would ignore the public tennis court were now using them. Some people even had picnics and acted like it was Memorial Day weekend. I remarked recently that, “If you tell an American not to drink gasoline and smoke cigar, they’ll do it anyway.” The country was founded by people who defied one authority just to set up another authority, which in turn is often ignored. This was no exception.

            I didn’t see the lawn fete this morning. Thankfully, I was one of only a few that were out and about.

            One of those few was a man with a metal detector. I have no clue what he was looking for. His car keys, perhaps? Native American artifacts infused with Viking influence? George Washington’s pocket change he lost in a bet with Ben Franklin? I’m not sure. But he stepped slowly and, waved that device methodically like an elephant’s trunk under a hot sun. Not even God wants to know if he found anything. I sure don’t.

            In all of this I can’t help but feel normal. What I mean by that is that I was always considered the eccentric. I dress vintage. So much so that I looked like a cross between Columbo and Peaky Blinders today; tan raincoat and matching flatcap.  

            “Just one more fookin’ thing!”

            I’ve never looked at the world in quite the same way as everyone else. And I’m bad at following the status quo. Now, the people around me are acting strange. Which means that for the first time in my life I actually fit in with the majority. My plans to wear my pith helmet and “explorer” jacket to plant a Union Jack in the park may go unnoticed. Along with howling at the full moon, dressing like Mr. Darcy, and busking acoustic rock to the squirrels will go unnoticed. I’m not saying I will do any of these things. I’m just saying…well, yes, I probably will do some of them. But I feel that a lifetime of absurdity was my rebellion against the “norm,” just as this defiance of “shelter in place” is a rebellion.

But, with my absurdity there’s a point to it. I saw things in the world that made no sense. And so, I seek to expose that they make no sense. Snark is one of my chief weapons, in case you haven’t noticed. I’m a social critic, in a way. But I feel I’m also a fair critic. I don’t prey on the wounded and the suffering. I look to those who cause the suffering, lob some critiques against them. They are the ones who deserve it.

This whole situation has been a series of failures on the part of many systems we take for granted. Systems that we believe will keep us safe. There’s only so much they can do. It’s also a failing on the part of those who feel it’s a hoax, or something to sneeze at. And while the virus is very real, we do ourselves no service by hoarding loo rolls and pasta. I guess anyone who’d eat an all grain diet for weeks on end will need them, so who am I to judge? But, if it were a time of war, they’d be taking essentials from their brothers and sisters that need them. Instead, this isn’t a war. It’s a chance to hold the mirror to ourselves and see who and what we really are. It’s not a pretty reflection of the U.S. But sometimes, we need called out on the lies we tell ourselves. This is one of those times.   

My long walk today occurred because a co-worker didn’t show. They were called by a supervisor, and they were unable to get a hold of them. So, I worked for about four hours to fill the gap. I didn’t have to stay beyond that and left immediately. While I’m grateful for the work, part of me wishes we’d gotten some sort of paid time off instead. But I know that’s not realistic. Part of me feels important, but I have no delusions about what I do. I’m not an air raid warden during the blitz, or a battlefield medic. I’m not helping families to shelter. Instead, I’m just listening to people scream into a phone, and blame the institution they sustain.

My long walk back to my place was a quick and uneventful one. A few people road bikes. Some people walked. Some wore masks, and others did not. I remember when we were still afraid of nuclear war, and the atomic mushrooms they would sprout. Now, we’re afraid of an enemy that exists without fault and is unseen. There’s no one to shoot or bomb. I think for some people that’s the most frustrating thing of all. In time there will be documentaries and interviews and even some tacky movies made about all this. We’ll either see it as a time of pride or a time of shame. It’s too early to tell at this stage how history will view this.

I know how I view it.

It’s a time when everything was interrupted. The Great Pause, I would like to call it. The question then is, “Will we have a Great Reset after?” Will we take the lessons we’ve learned, or just go back to ignorance?

You’ll have to answer that one.

Copyright Riley Joyce 2020