I hold to my policy of not editorilaizing on current events. I have nothing to add, except my outrage, which solves nothing and helps no one. When you bite into a cupcake, you don’t want Hollandaise sauce. “So, this is me, writing about horses, being a cupcake.” [Speaking Out]
Or not writing about horses, as the day would have it.
Dentist appointment tomorrow. Me, not horses. Medical providers are opening on a limited basis. My fractured tooth qualifies [Inconveniences]. This will be my first extended interaction with strangers since the pandemic got to my state.
I have not talked to a stranger for more than the length of a check-out transaction in over two months. Even those occasions are rare. When we have essential tasks, husband goes in the store. Either they are his errands or – sadly – people will respect his space more than mine.
I’m not nervous. Covid 19 is serious; it’s not anthrax. To the best of my understanding, passing contact with a tiny amount of virus particles will not doom me. I’m going into a medical environment. They will be better at this than I am. Of all medical types, a dental office will be the most up-to-date on respiratory disease transmission. They spend their lives getting up in a person’s grill and not getting sick.
I’m not nervous. I am concerned. Low-risk is not no risk. Young, perfectly healthy people can get Covid19 and die from it. I may be healthy but I’m teetering on the edge of when they say you should consider locking yourself in a tower.
I’m not nervous. I do have questions. I plan on wearing a mask and staying away from people. Will people stay away from me? Will I forget myself and commit stupid, contamination-prone actions? These are not habits I am used to. What will the world be like between the safety of my truck and the dental office? How do I manage the elevator? What if I go in first and people crowd in? Should I look for the stairs?
I live in a … um … mask-optional area. Some stores are all about protecting employees and customers: masks, acrylic barriers, regulated lines. Other stores act as if the virus is over, or never happened in the first place. No protests. No eye-rolling if you do wear a mask. Spotty compliance.
Mind you, data from my direct experience is limited, as I said. Most of this is based on reports from the household’s ambassador to the outside world and my surveys of parking lots while I wait.
Want to give props to folks doing it right. Little Professor, a local bookstore, has made a huge effort. I was picking up an order I made weeks earlier, back when everyone was yipping about placing orders to support local businesses. They had their double doors wide open, which eliminated the need to touch the door handles. This was before research was telling us about the advantages of fresh air and ventilation, so that was a happy bonus. They completely rearranged their interior by heaving bookshelves around and removing their center island. Traffic flow was wide open and I could see every person in the store in order to avoid them, had I wished to browse. The small check-out table was easy for both customer and employee to step back from. They clearly put thought into their new arrangement. Of course, masks on all employees. Good job. Here’s a cookie.
I say I’m not nervous now. We’ll see how exhausted I am tomorrow evening when I get home from my big adventure.
Update, Tuesday evening: Tooth getting an onlay. Protection procedures outstanding. More on Friday.
Stay safe. Stay sane.