Many years ago, when the internet was new, we watched a dumb tell-a-vision movie about a computer virus that mutated into a disease virus, leaping out of old Apple II-E computers to strangulate victims in offices and baffling medical professionals.
Now we have the opposite — a pandemic virus that gallops from one human to another as people all over the world go crazy on their digital devices, challenging medical experts and tripping up politicians from China to Italy to Warshington, DC.
Friday the 13th I motored into Berryville to do errands: post office, recycle, liquor store, gas station, and make groceries, as folks say in New Orleans. I lived 18 years in New Orleans, and that many elsewhere in south Louisiana, and spent many summer vacations on the Mississippi Gulf Coast until Hurricane Katrina obliterated it.
When hurricanes approached, people knew the drill: buy tape to take up your small windows, canned food, milk, bread, etc. Hardware stores ran out of plywood, markets sold out of necessaries, and long lines were everywhere.
Wherever I went on Friday, the talk of the town was coronavirus. Dollar General’s toilet paper shelves were empty, likewise at Harter House grocery and of course Walmart, where, oddly the dog food aisle was bare. I know that if you have Great Pyramid dawgs to guard your chickens, they eat lots, but are people procuring enough toilet paper and dog food to last ‘til Christmas?
There was plenty of fresh produce, and meat and dairy coolers were full, except for a run on butter. Canned veggies were running low, and a gentleman restocking the bread shelves could not keep up with shoppers yanking loaves out of his hands.
I understand the need to prepare; for the past couple weeks we have been stocking up at a reasonable rate on beans and rice, some canned foods, paper products, cleaning supplies, dog food. Equally important, the foods we eat every day.
Masks were never available as far as I know, and though my wife picked up a quart of hand sanitizer, it was unavailable the next day. The best advice was to purchase only what we’ll need, because our neighbors will also need those items. Prepare, not panic.
Well, somebody hit the panic button on Friday the 13th. My Walmart cashier complained of working extra shifts (at low wages). “That’s all right,” I said, “that will make up for when you’re out of work next month.” The liquor store clerk said they’d lock the door and sell only through the window, and I guess banks and fast food joints can do that, too.
But the disruptions are coming big time, as pretty much all recreational activities will shut down — sports, concerts, theaters. It’s not just the millionaire athletes who won’t be working, but parking lot attendants, concession vendors, ticket takers, ushers, many of whom who do this work as second jobs.
McDonald’s may stay open through a drive-up window, but how about all our favorite local eateries? I understand that big cities are going into both official and voluntary lockdowns, but what happens when the virus actually gets to hicktown USA?
People will hunker down at home, schools closed, businesses empty, hospitals and their staff most at risk. What if that liquor store can’t get product delivered? What if the garbagemen get sick? What if the firemen stay home with Covid-19? What about people who cannot work online for an office or school? What about self-employed folks, barkeeps and waitstaff?
Last week most people I spoke with believed “it’s the media blowing it all out of proportion.” By Friday the 13th, it became clear that our entire society will be crippled, even for people who remain healthy. It ain’t the media.
I have washed my hands more in the past two weeks than in the past two years. I have learned to wash them for 20 seconds; I probably never washed them more than six seconds before, unless I had been doing manual labor outside. I read from credible sources, not Faux Knews. I send this column in by email, so unless I’m dead, I’ll check in next week. Be careful!
Kirk Ashworth