Postcards from the Couch: Don’t Stand so Close to Me

No way out. (Photo by tcholas/Flickr.)

A certain song by The Police has been popping into my head a lot recently, and not in a good way. This, as you likely already have guessed, is because there are still people out there who haven’t yet fully embraced the concept of social distancing.

An example: I ducked into a Family Dollar last week in search of any sort of disinfectant I could find, stupidly thinking that it wouldn’t be too crowded since, any other time, it isn’t. But I walked in, and as I tried to make my way toward the aisle with the cleaning products, I encountered person after person who didn’t seem at all concerned with being too close to others.

So I would start down one short aisle, see a person coming toward me, then retreat and try the next aisle, only to see a different person standing there selecting shampoo. Aisle after aisle, it was the same story. I finally made my way past an employee stocking an end cap with snack foods – I turned and shuffled past him sideways – and doubled back to the aisle I sought, narrowly avoiding a couple with a shopping cart filled with toilet paper.

Life in the Coronavirus Apocalypse has basically turned into a real-life version of the game Frogger.

The worst part is that when I finally managed to get to the other side of the “street,” if you will, there were no disinfectants – only a sign alerting me that because there’s a pandemic, they may be out of disinfectants. Thanks for the information.

A couple days later, I went to Clifton Kroger for supplies, and hopefully disinfectants, and it was exactly the same story. Many people were aware of keeping the necessary distance, but way too many weren’t. It’s almost as if people walk into a store and suddenly they feel like they’ve turned back time and been transported via Delorean to a place where it’s somehow OK to touch every avocado before you choose one. No, no, no.

NO.

At one point, I stopped briefly to grab something, when a tall man walked up from my left, clearly wanting the same product, and reached over my shoulder, almost touching me, to grab one. No “excuse me,” no attempt to avoid me. I literally would have been gone from the spot in a matter of two seconds, had he waited. Now, to be fair, he was wearing a facemask. But that’s not the cure for a pandemic, folks. It just isn’t.

It was nearly like the analogous truck smashing the frog – deep recesses of my brain, I think I may have even heard that sad wind-down sound effect that plays when you lose a game of Frogger.

I ducked away, went toward the cereal aisle to grab a box of Cheerios, and there was a woman with her cart, standing there comparing name brand cereals with generic-brand. I waited for a few seconds, then moved on with a plan for future reconnaissance. The mission must be completed.

After grabbing some reasonably-priced chicken, I veered toward the aisle with the pain relievers, antacids, etc., in search of ibuprofen, but there were two people in that aisle. Again, I ducked toward another aisle, grabbed a frozen pizza, then tried the opposite end of the ibuprofin aisle moments later, only to find the same two people occupying that aisle, leisurely shopping for whatever sundries they sought. I decided to abort, as I had enough ibuprofen to get me through at least another couple of weeks, if not more.

Also? Not one disinfectant in the store, just another sign telling me why. As if I didn’t already know. Sigh. It’s bad enough I am nearly out of Clorox wipes with no relief in sight, but do we have to state the obvious too? I have enough toilet paper, but I wonder if there was a sign in that aisle telling me there might not be any because people are wiping their butts a lot these days?

Now, I may not be bona fide, but I apparently am “essential,” because I survived Kroger, then went to work at my side gig, where I sell bottles of bourbon and wine to folks who are doing their best to hunker down with the rest of us. I happened to be sitting in the front window booth of the store (business is slow these days) when three people, who were in the neighborhood for another reason, ambled in just to look around. One of them got within six feet of me to ask a random question about a bourbon I’d never heard of.

And for maybe the first time, I felt a little panicked. I was sitting in a corner and had no means of maximizing distance. They left, but showed no sign they picked up on my social cues of scooting away as I answered the question.

Just minutes later, another person walked in and got close enough to me that I said, “Can you please step back?” That feeling of panic hit me stronger this time. Not that I thought for some reason these people were infected – I just want to be able to control the distance, be it out of a fear of the virus spreading or a fear of disappointing Andy Beshear somehow. (Am I the only one who feels a little guilty when leaving the house?)

This person apologized and moved back a step or two, but still didn’t leave. And they had no intention of buying anything from the time they walked in; they just stepped in because they saw me sitting there and decided to talk to me. I appreciate the friendly gesture, but this is the opposite of social distancing, folks. Life is different for the time being, and it is our duty to treat it as such. If that person wanted to say hi to me, they could have simply waved as they walked past, you know?

Anyway, this is just my way of reminding people that it’s so important, especially for the next couple of weeks, to minimize our interaction with others as much as possible. Do it for your elderly relatives. Do it for your mom and dad. Do it for your friends, your spouses, your children. Do it for Gov. Beshear.

And please, don’t stand so close to me.