More Pandemic Pondering

I just ran across a Facebook post. It featured an image of a woman at an "End-the-Lockdown" protest in Nashville, Tennessee. She was carrying a poster that read: “Sacrifice the Weak. Re-Open.” Now, that’s pretty horrible sentiment, made more revolting at the notion of a person getting out the multicolored magic markers and the oak-tag paper to make a sign for all the world to see. But, hold on, this is 2020, where not everything is what it appears to be. After mulling over what I’d just seen, I considered the possibility that it just might be a photo-shopped original—prime meat for ravenous social-media consumers who, by the way, are ubiquitous and on the far ends of both political spectrums. I sincerely hope it was a fake, but it might not be. If it wasn’t, I’d like to believe this lady is an aberration in a sea of men and women—ill-informed and misguided in many instances—who just want to get back to work and pay their bills.

And now for something completely different: The litter on New York City streets has definitely multiplied in the past several weeks. With alternate-side-parking rules suspended and street cleaning compromised, it was inevitable. Litterbugs, though, have taken their inconsideration and slovenliness to a higher level—or, should I say, lower level—by discarding face masks and latex gloves onto sidewalks and curbsides. Think a minute about what you are doing. You are willy-nilly tossing away products that you were wearing to protect yourself from a potentially deadly virus and you expect an essential worker from the sanitation department or an area homeowner to pick them up off the ground.

As a matter of record, I encountered a couple of guys walking around with brooms, long-handled dust pans, and garbage cans this morning. They were sporting fluorescent vests and ambling from block to block picking up random trash from the sidewalks. I assumed they were city employees and not some Good Samaritans doing the neighborhood a good turn. I’ll say this about the pair, their thoroughness was rather uneven. At first I thought they were on a mission to gather up those jettisoned masks and gloves that are all over the place, but they picked up candy wrappers, used plastic cups, and lottery ticket stubs but also passed by a fair share of candy wrappers, used plastic cups, and lottery ticket stubs. Go figure...

On a happier note: I can say with confidence that there’s a certain calm in the middle of the storm right now. By and large, we’ve acclimated to the dire situation. Shopping in the grocery stores—masks are mandatory—seems pretty subdued compared to several weeks ago. There was a panicky feel then that’s not there anymore. Ditto in the tight bodega spaces—where six feet of social distancing is well nigh impossible. I was pleased to see that one of the establishments that I patronize was at long last restocked with Bounty paper towels and Scott toilet paper. The proprietor, too, appeared more relaxed and was no longer wearing a hazmat suit behind the counter. He seemed positively at ease as I handed him cash—my outstretched arm extending as far as it could over a social-distancing barricade of cases of Poland Spring water—and was back to making small talk. While I approve of his sartorial overhaul and the minimalist banter, I would recommend that he keep his mask on while transacting with the diverse clientele in that little hole in the wall of his.

Finally, from the “One Thing Leads to Another” file: I ran out of peanut butter. While I prefer Jif, I will settle for Peter Pan. While I prefer smooth, I will settle for crunchy in a crunch. Well, in the pandemic shopping mania of the new normal—where stocking up is job one—I was compelled to pick up a jar of Peter Pan crunchy. I purchased it from a gourmet market that stocks non-gourmet products, too. It is generally wise to check expiration dates on many of the items for sale there. Knowing, though, that peanut butter has a rather lengthy shelf life, I was remiss in this instance. My jar was expired—by a whole month—which means it probably sat in that store for years. The lid said, “Best if used by,” so I was prepared to soldier on and use the peanut butter. But when I unscrewed it, the top layer of the crunchy peanut butter appeared grayish and petrified. It may very well have still been edible, but I decided to write this one off as a $3.49 lesson. In a cruel twist of fate, I ended up with a jar of Reese’s peanut butter, which is—in my opinion—rather lame as peanut butters go.

(Photos from the personal collection of Nicholas Nigro)