Pandemic

22 Pandemic third edit 3/24 3:00 PM

I looked out of my apartment window. It looks like a nice day. Bright and sunny. I love sunny days. Eddie Rabbit sang that he loved a rainy night. I don't know why, except if it has to rain, night is a good time to do it I suppose.

I think I'll go for a walk. I grabbed my cap, cane, and camera and headed out.

Camera. One thing I learned is to always always always bring my camera. I am always seeing a shot when I don't bring my camera and then I wish I had it.

I walked down the hall. Where's Mrs. Sciocetti? I didn't see her. I fumbled for my key to my mail box and checked my mail. That should get her attention. I still didn't see her. The door was open to the office, so I stuck my head in.

“Hi Jennifer,” I said. “Have you seen Mrs. Sciocetti today?”

Jennifer looked up from her paperwork, pen in hand.

“No, I haven't Mr. Gibson,” replied Jennifer.

“Huh. Well, I hope she's OK. She's always here.”

“Maybe I'll give her a call,” said Jennifer.

“Why hello Mr. Gibson,” said a voice behind me.

I turned and looked and there she was.

“Good morning, Mrs. Sciocetti,” I said with a smile. “I didn't see you. I was worried about you.”

“Well, isn't that nice. Isn't that nice, Jennifer?”

Jennifer smiled and nodded her head.

“Going for our walk, are we?” said Mrs. Sciocetti.

“We are,” I answered. “Do you live alone, Mrs. Sciocetti?”

The smile left Mrs. Sciocetti's face.

“I'm afraid so. My husband passed some time ago,” she answered. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, you have friends, Mrs. Sciocetti. When I didn't see your cheery face, I was just concerned. We'll look after you.”

“That's wonderful,” said Mrs. Sciocetti, her smile returning. “Isn't that wonderful, Jennifer?”

“Yes it is,” agreed Jennifer.

“Well, have a wonderful walk, Mr. Gibson,” said Mrs. Sciocetti. “Be careful crossing the street.”

“I will,” I answered as I turned and walked out the door.

I walked up the complex's driveway and took a right and headed for the village. I saw no sign of Richie. I walked to the O'Connor house. It must not be the O'Connor house anymore. The driveway was enlarged at some point and it almost looked like a parking lot. There were several cars parked there, despite having a four car garage. What do you want to bet it's apartments now. That's what happens today. It seems that the average working stiff just can't save enough money for a down payment anymore. So they live in apartments.

I sat myself on O'Connor's stone wall. I still intend to call it O'Connor's. I don't care who owns it now. Not that it matters much because I didn't know the O'Connors. A big fancy house like that means that he was a higher up in a mill probably. Or maybe even owned a mill. Cohoes had a whole bunch of mills tied together named Harmony Mills. I read someplace that it was the largest cotton mill complex in the world in the late 1800s. I wonder why they didn't build it close to where the cotton is?

After the mills shut down, other businesses moved in. Bob Van's father and uncle were 3M distributors and had their business there. I think I heard it was fancy dancy apartments now. When I served on the Gloversville Historic District Review Board, we called that “adaptive re-use”. That's a nice term for “we can't get anyone else good in here, like a factory, so you'll have to do”.

Well, I guess that's progress.

I sat on the stone wall, hands resting on my cane, watching the cars go by. All these dang cars today look the same. How do you find yours in a parking lot? It's times like this that I'm glad I stopped driving. Blind in one eye, can't see out of the other. I didn't stop driving just for my own sake, but for the sake of everyone else on the road. And they don't even appreciate it, probably.

Well, time to get a move on. I stood up, found my feet, and slowly made my way down towards the village. Past the church hall, which looks nice. They painted it or something. Past St. Mary's school. It looks closed. I know it's a school day. What the heck? As I was passing St. Mary's church I saw signs taped to the doors. I wonder what it says? Why don't you go look? Because I don't want to climb the stairs that's why. Why not? I could fall and break a hip. When did you turn into such a big baby? Hey! Sorry. Big baby.

Down over the bridge over the canal I went. I've got a mule... Finally I made it to McGreivey's. It looked closed. There was a sign on the door. It said it was closed on orders of the governor because of the coronavirus. What? How can a governor order a business closed? Why? What's this virus?

To heck with it. I'll go down to Don & Paul's for lunch. There wasn't much traffic. Not much at all. I had no problem crossing the street. When I got to Don & Paul's, it was closed. A sign on the door said it was closed until further notice on orders from the governor. What the heck?

I looked up and down Broad Street. Everything seemed to be closed. The Chinese restaurant, the tattoo parlor, the beauty shop. Hardly anyone was parked on the street, just a car here and there.

I turned and started to make my way home. I need to find out what's happening her. What it is ain't exactly clear. There's a man with a gun over there, telling me I got to beware. Great song by Buffalo Springfield.

I got by McGreivey's and took a right to head to Division Street. I know. I really need a hair cut. I'm starting to look like a hippy. Or a bum, depending on your point of view. Same thing. It is not, just shut up. Fine. Fine.

Joe's barbershop is in the back of McGreivey's. The parking lot there was empty too. I walked up to Joe's door. There was a closed sign on it. What's going on? The whole place is closed. I better get home and see what's happening. Maybe there's a war or something. What was this virus?

I shuffled along as fast as I could, up Sixth Street, over the bridge, to Van Schoonhoven Square. I got to the front door and there was a sign on it. Closed to visitors. I unlocked the door and went in, down the hall. No one in sight. The office was now closed. The common room, where residents congregated, was blocked off with bright yellow tape. It too was closed.

But Mrs. Sciocetti was standing by the mail boxes, checking her mail.

“Hello Mrs. Sciocetti,” I said.

“Why hello Mr. Gibson,” she answered as she turned. “Did we have a nice walk?”

“Yes. No. I mean no. Everything was closed.”

“It's that virus,” said Mrs. Sciocetti. “Orders from the governor.”

“What virus?” I asked.

“My goodness,” said Mrs. Sciocetti. “Don't you watch the news?”

“No ma'am,” I replied. “I don't have a television.”

“Oh, my my my,” said Mrs. Sciocetti. “It's all over the news. It has been for many weeks now. I'm surprised you didn't hear about it.”

“I usually follow the news,” I said, “but I've been working on writing a book and I've been busy.”

“Well, then I'm glad you bumped into me,” she answered. “It's like a flu bug of some sort. Only everybody is getting it. It's very contagious. And it can be fatal, particularly to old people like us.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes. The governor is ordering everything closed except for grocery stores, gas stations, pharmacies, and the like. Essential businesses. Many people now work from home.”

“What are those people going to do without their businesses and jobs?” I wondered out loud.

“I don't know,” she said sadly.

“Oh. Pandemic! I did hear about something in China awhile back. That's China's problem, not ours.”

“Well it's ours now,” said Mrs. Sciocetti. “They want us to social distance. That means they want everyone to stay home. No groups of people of more than ten. Get no closer than six feet to another person.”

“What? That's crazy. Are you serious?” I asked.

“I'm very serious,” said Mrs. Sciocetti.

“OK, I need to get on the internet. Thank you Mrs. Sciocetti.”

“You stay in your apartment, Mr. Gibson,” Mrs. Sciocetti called after me.

I walked down the hall to my apartment, opened the door, and set my cane in the corner of the closet and hung up my hat and coat. I put my camera in its spot under the coffee table. I sat and turned on my laptop. I went straight to CNN. There it was.

“NEARLY 1 IN 5 AMERICANS ORDERED TO STAY HOME” read the headline. “President announces suspension of federally held student loans”. I saw an article about coronavirus symptoms. An NBC News staff person died. Schools closed. No visitors at hospitals. All church services canceled. People were hoarding things, like toilet paper. Toilet paper ? Must be scared shitless.

16,489 cases of coronavirus in the US with 219 deaths. 267,920 cases world wide, and 11,187 deaths. What?

Geez. I've lived through I don't know how many pandemics in my lifetime. I've never seen anything like this before. Polio, mumps, chicken pox, measles, German measles, swine flu, and so on. Why are people panicking over this one?

Because it's so contagious you dummy. Who asked you? No one. So shut up then. I can't concentrate with you yelling at me all the time. It's my job. Who hired you to do this job? All you have to know is that it's my job. Well, stifle it. Fine. Fine.

This is going to take awhile I'll bet. I better check my groceries, see if I need anything.

I set my laptop aside. I got up and opened my cupboard door. I had plenty of apricots. Cereal is getting low. I went to the refrigerator. Everything was running low. I panicked when I saw that I was almost out of coffee. Only a few days of coffee beans left, at best.

I went back to my laptop. I went to Instacart where I order my groceries online. It's convenient, and I don't have to fight crowds. I place an order and I get it delivered in just a few hours. I looked around their website for things I needed. I filled up my cart. My normal $35 cart was up to $160. Are you hoarding? No, I'm ordering what I need. It looks like hoarding to me. Well it isn't. I need coffee beans and a two pound bag is twenty bucks alone. What about the other stuff? Do you really need ten boxes of Rice-a-Roni? Yes. Mind your own business. Fine. Fine.

I hit the button that said “place order”. I picked a delivery time for later that Wednesday afternoon. A warning message appeared that said deliveries might be delayed. I hit “confirm”. My order came up with a delivery for Saturday afternoon. Crap.

I went to the refrigerator where I keep my coffee. The beans keep better in the refrigerator. I counted out the scoops. Five scoops per pot. Fifteen scoops. OK. As long as I get my groceries on Saturday, I'm good. I'll run out of apples, bananas, chia seeds, and a few other things, but I won't starve anyway. Or go without coffee.

I went back to my laptop. I better read about this virus thing. This could be serious.