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Poison Pen
I saw the most extraordinary thing.
A friend of mine owns a pizza restaurant and though on limited service – to-go food only, per the health department – is having trouble keeping his place staffed. That sounds odd right now when most of the service industry is clamoring for whatever money can be had, but waiters are paid less than three dollars an hour. That’s fine. After tips, they end up making more than just about anybody in the house if they don’t sneer a lot. Sometimes even if they do.
But now there is no table service, so now there are not as many tips to go around. As a waiter you can, if over the course of a pay period you don’t make more than the federal minimum wage once tips are included, require your employer to make you whole – up to the minimum.
He was willing to pay them the minimum despite the dire financial forecast for his business, but that was asking people who were accustomed to and budgeted for making at least twenty dollars an hour. Seven dollars and 25 cents doesn’t pay the bills. The newest employees went on to the hope of other opportunities and he was left with a core of long time folks. With the dwindling number, he was able to pay them more hourly and people have been surprisingly generous with their take-out order tips. No one is making as much as before, but muddling by is probable.
The other day the anchor of his staff, who is dear to me, lost one of her grandchildren. It wasn’t the Chinese Flu. The poor kid had been in a vegetative state since he was twelve. Earlier this week at age sixteen he passed. I used to have her job some 20 years plus ago and as I mentioned, I was friends with the owner.
I volunteered to fill in if needed. It’s not like I had anything else to do. I didn’t so much work as be there to help out as needed. Basically I watched Jeopardy, some old baseball games that were re-aired, and occasionally tested the draught beer to be sure it wasn’t going bad. Occasionally I answered the phone. Take out can be brisk, but it doesn’t require that many people to run it smoothly.
It was interesting to see how different people were reacting to contact with others.
There were exceptions: one guy was basically in a hazmat suit and another delivered a pretty tight and seemingly well-rehearsed diatribe warning that Covid 19 was caused by cell phone radiation and the governments of the world were conspiring to cover up that fact, but most of the drivers for various delivery apps were indifferent to the possibility of infection.
People who were not employed to pick up food were all over the place. Some had gloves, some mumbled about all the nonsense (few used the word nonsense), and some would go so far as to pay by phone and request that their food be left in front of the building. For the most part, I don’t judge. I don’t know how compromised someone’s immune system is so I won’t fault them for their precautions, but there was this one woman.
She came into the building. There were three others waiting for their orders and then there were the three front-of-house employees. It was obvious that she was uncomfortable being in proximity to so many people.
She helped herself to the Purell by the register and then retreated to an unoccupied area. When her pizza was ready, she gave her credit card to the cashier and then started railing about the fact that she was signing with a pen that had been touched by others. She was pretty rude.
“You are spreading this contagion!” she howled before storming out as best you can storm when the register is eight or so feet from the exit.
The pen was a breaking point.
There was a moment of “Wait…what?” after she left followed by customer and employee laughter.
We all started pointing out the obvious. She handed a credit card to another person and was thus complicit in spreading the contagion. She took back the credit card mixing the cashier’s cooties with her own. She took the pizza box knowing it had been touched by others. There was Purell she was welcome to after she touched the offending pen.
I pointed out that she might have an aneurism when she realizes how many people have touched the push/pull door pad thingamajiggy that she used to exit into the rest of the world post kinda storming.
I always thought that adults understood that writing instruments rarely come in single-use sterilized packages. Immediately after writing that sentence, I thought about the fact that to get to whatever is inside any sterilized package you have to have contact with the unsterilized outside of that package. Who touched the outside of your box of latex gloves?
There lies madness.
What I’m seeing, and I’d like people’s opinion on this, is that people have differing views of the world. I hate to be one of those “There are two types of people” people, but divides are everywhere.
I’ve always been of the opinion that the natural world was out to kill me. If you want a sense of my thoughts, to steal an analogy from Robert Conquest, this essay is just over a thousand words. Statistically, by the end of the day, per the CDC, 2,000 children will have died from contagious diarrhea worldwide. That’s two deaths for every word you have just read and that’s just today. We have contained that disease in most of the western world, but threats are out there. I feel like I’m watching more people than I expected waking up to my point of view.
So many are in complete panic. So many are exasperated. Do we quarantine or resume our lives?
There will be people who say the answer is somewhere in the middle. I’ve never ascribed to that view. If someone wants to kill me and I don’t want to be killed the compromise would be what, a light beating? No thanks. There is a right answer and sometimes it might be an extreme. I’d like to hear what people think.
But for the sake of my sanity, if you are freaking out about the possibility of getting infected, bring your own damn pen.
Published in General
I have not changed my behavior much. I already wash my hands more than most people, because I still read the print edition of the Wall Street Journal. Everything in my general environment shows the effect of the newsprint. I am always washing the black ink off my hands if I want to do something other than read my paper.
I went on a Trader Joe’s run this afternoon, and there were lots of people there, and most were not standing 6 feet from the next person. I paid with cash, and no one said anything. However, the cashier was wearing gloves (which she did not change for each customer). The line at the Starbuck’s drive-through was 6 cars long this afternoon, but that’s pretty typical for a Saturday afternoon. I rewarded myself for getting our taxes done with a Frappuccino.
My two-week involuntary vacation starts Monday, and I expect not to remain inside for the entire two weeks. I do expect to get caught up on my Wall Street Journals, as I should have lots of uninterrupted time to read.
That’s interesting. I’ve read for years that the inside pages of newspapers are close to sterile. In the case of an emergency birth or whatever you wanted a newspaper if you couldn’t get to a hospital because it was as clean a surface as you may get. The ink wasn’t a consideration.
They aren’t considered antiseptic but from what I’ve read they (newspaper pages) are a-septic, a distinction that I’m not prepared to define. That said, I’ve read that midwives were upset as more and more newspapers shuttered.
G2 .38mm ftw.
Normally, but if they surprise me with it after they’ve run my card…there I am.
Cleanliness is certainly a consideration, but newborns should never be exposed to the NYT in any case.
Indeed. I totally agree.
This must be hard on Gaia worshipers. Hence the conspiracy theories, like the idea that COVID-19 is caused by cellphone radiation.
The appearance of a conspiracy theory usually means that the world view of some group of people has been contradicted by reality.
Gaia is beneficent? No, not at all. Humans built up the edifice of modern society to protect themselves from nature. But nature never gives up trying to kill us, and, on occasion, succeeds.
This is why I always brandish a weapon when I’m shopping. Cuts down on the interactions with chowderheads.
Wear gloves and change them carefully after contacts so you don’t touch the outside with bare skin, wash then put on a new pair until you get home if you must. When you get home, change shoes pants and external garments outside and put on the garments you left on the porch when you put on outside cloths that, since we don’t go out except to buy groceries, are sitting in the sun for days. But then I’m over 80.
That point was made in a Doris Day/Rock Hudson movie The Thrill of It All. Arlene Francis was stopped in a traffic jam and about to give birth. (Dr.) Rock Hudson told the cabbie to go get a fresh newspaper.
I always wondered if that idea were true.
Arlene Francis giving birth with Dr. Rock Hudson just blew my mind.
I remember hearing a comment somewhere recently, that “You may think you’re stuck in traffic, but really, you ARE the traffic too!”
Nietzsche warned us that we could become traffic by staring into traffic. Or was that playing in traffic?