Yesterday there were 48 cases of coronavirus in New York City. Earlier today there were 62. Now there are over a hundred. The mayor says there could be a thousand by next week.
At first the nature of NYC with coronavirus is not much different than the nature of NYC without coronavirus. I went to a bar on Tuesday, one without a giant TV so I could pretend that neither Joe Biden or coronavirus were becoming inevitable. Don’t talk to me about the former. I can only tell you that this whole situation makes a very strong case for Medicare for All, paid sick leave, and Bernie Sanders.
The bar was full enough for a Tuesday, but then again there will always be people in bars no matter how bad things get–especially if they get bad. The bar had a painting of one of the covered bridges of Madison County, a poster from the 1980 Winter Olympics in Lake Placid, and a mini television from the 90s that played The Return of the Jedi on VHS. A couple made out by the window, and my friend and I hugged each other in greeting.
The next day I was reminded of the global pandemic that has kicked down our door. The subway almost let me forget about it, until a young white man wearing a face mask boarded. It is common to see certain demographics wearing face masks on the subway–quotidian, in fact. But it was the first time I saw a young white man wearing one. He stood near the front of the door. Some people looked up from their phones, took note, and looked back down again. I think I might have seen someone rolling their eyes.
When I got to the school I would be doing workshops at for work there was a woman waiting on the bench in the main office. She also wore a face mask. A student sitting next to her started coughing.
“What’s he doing in here?” Asked the school secretary. “Get him out into the hall!”
Someone else rushed in with some rubbing alcohol and sprayed down the counter.
When I met the assistant principal we bumped elbows. A few moments later the another assistant principal sauntered in and offered his hand when he introduced himself. Out of habit I took it.
“Ooops!” We both said when the first assistant principal’s eyes widened, aghast. We quickly slathered our hands with hand sanitizer.
This is another thing. Some classrooms will always have a supply of hand sanitizer, usually strategically situated next to the tissues. But this is the exception, not the rule. It’s hard for me to tell if I’m only now noticing hand sanitizer everywhere now because I’m seeking it more, or because it’s really become more ubiquitous. Either way, it is impossible to notice now that dispensers stand as sentinels at every counter, from the school’s main office, to the security desk, to the counter of the bahn mi place I went to for lunch.
Of all the customers that entered the bahn mi place, I only witnessed two people using the sanitizer. Most people got their bahn mi to go. A couple of friends sat at a small table adjacent to mine–one of three small tables in the entire joint. They were joking about precautions.
“I guess we’re not really social distancing, are we?”
Social distancing at a restaurant is a moot point after you spend your commute crammed into the subway.
When I was done at the school I made my way to my office. The subway was markedly less packed than it was in the morning, but I couldn’t tell if that was because of the coronavirus, or because midday is always off-peak. There were five people in the train car. Then there were seven when two young Asian women boarded. They were the same height, wore the same black hooded coat, and each had a face mask and gloves. It was the kind of thing you’d want to take a picture of if you worked for the news.
When I got back to the office everyone was either unabashedly talking about coronavirus or trying really hard not to.
“My wife just went to Cosco. She says there’s no water, no Ensure, no chicken,” reported one co-worker. He went from cubicle to cubicle to relate the story. By the time he came to my cubicle I had heard it five times.
I asked another co-worker if he was planning on making a run for the grocery store. He rolled his eyes.
“If I do I won’t be getting anything more than I usually do.”
“Same,” I said, vowing inwardly to not be too alarmist.
In the meantime, the higher-ups started asking for our personal phone numbers, just in case. They also asked us to make sure our laptops were set up for remote access, just in case.
On the way home you wouldn’t know there was global pandemic, much less that New York City had been hit by hit. The mayor and governor had urged people to drive to work, if possible, to work remotely, if possible, or to take their bikes, if possible. I went down to the subway hoping for an empty platform. All the if-possibles turned out to be impossible for most people, and the platform was crowded as ever.
In a car full of people only one was wearing a face mask. I counted two older women who were using napkins to grip the poles. Some brave souls clutched them with their bare hands. The poles are always sketchy. They, and the elevator walls, are always the things I beg my toddler to please, for the love of god, do not touch when we take the subway on a regular commute, and they are probably the first thing you want to avoid in a global pandemic.
Most people stayed away from them. I was reminded of the first summer I came to New York City and I’d try to ride the train without holding onto a pole ever, not because I was afraid of germs, but because I liked the physical challenge of trying to find balance. I’d always take a surfer stance, and called this activity “subway surfing” until the native New Yorkers told me that subway surfing was what they used to do when they were kids, and that it involved hopping onto a moving train and clinging to the back, the sides, or even standing on the top.
I stopped my version of subway surfing As I grew older finding balance became more of a mental challenge, and why would I try to make my life harder by falling onto people every time the train came to a sudden halt?
But the physical balancing skills I picked up were quickly summoned when it came time to ride the subway this week. My commute became fun again as I tried to avoid touching the pole like a kid avoiding cracks to spare her mother’s back.
The fun wore off when I got off the train. As I climbed up the stairs people descended, covering their mouths with scarves. People on the street toted bags heavy with groceries. I held the door open for my neighbor as she dragged in three bags laden with chips and toilet paper.
Where would we be getting all these supplies when all the stores ran out? My braggadocio about not going to the store dissipated when I thought about life without toilet paper.
“We need to go to the store,” I declared to Jeremy when we got home.
The first store we went to had run out of carts by the time we got there. The line snaked around the frozen food aisle and slithered all the way to the dairy section. I grabbed two shopping baskets. Jeremy carried our son, who proudly carried his blue toddler backpack and was very excited about helping to carry groceries back.
Jeremy decided to see if another nearby grocery store was less busy while I ran around like circus animal stocking up on sardines, rice, toilet paper, oatmeal and frozen veggies. If the other store was also a bust at least I had something to show for my time.
As I ran around the store I caught a good glimpse of everyone who had crawled out of the woodwork to get ready for the apocalypse, people I don’t usually see at the grocery store. I felt bad for all the senior citizens standing in line, leaning on their carts or their canes. Another couple pushed a stroller back and forth to calm their toddler as they waited in line with a modest haul that they could carry back to their apartments. Without cars, most New Yorkers would only end up with a modest haul anyway, even in a time when we’re told to stock up on everything. I also saw one of the homeless people that stays at the park navigating his cart into line. It was mostly filled with his collection of bags and blankets, but also had some crackers and juice. He smiled as he gripped some coupons in his hand.
“Gotta stock up!” It was hard to say if the cart belonged to him or the store.
Before too long, but after it already felt like ages, Jeremy called to say that the other store was much less crowded. I hustled over. Not only was it less crowded but it was also much smaller. I quickly found Jeremy and our son.
“Mommy! Oatmeal!” He exclaimed as he ran towards me. He indeed had oatmeal, and he carried it all the way home in his little blue backpack. Jeremy and I carried everything else.
By the time we got back, we found out that Broadway had been shut down, Madison Square Garden had been shut down, the Barclays Center had been shut down, and the mayor declared a state of emergency. The governor also declared that there would be no gatherings of more than five hundred people. The rule would not apply to office spaces, schools, or the subway.
Talking to Strangers 