Gloves

That’s what I’ve been seeing the past few days walking around various parts of Astoria. Gloves on the ground. Rubber medical gloves. I’ve seen at least two dozen scattered throughout my walks. In the past, I would find these things when out sweeping the sidewalk on Saturday morning. Before all this, that meant some strange remnant of the drug culture (people getting tuned up in cars before/after attending a nearby nightclub) that I’ve never quite understood. Now, it’s people throwing away used medical gloves on the street due to the Coronavirus.

The gloves are indicative of two things to me. One very minor hopeful aspect: more people are wearing gloves. That’s the only positive. The much larger takeaway for me is that despite the good intentions of whoever was wearing the gloves, the slovenly tendency to throw a used medical glove on a public street at the height of a pandemic suggest a near-criminal sociopath. This person could be walking around in a hazmat suit all day, and I can guarantee he will still get and spread this thing if he’s this pathologically stupid.

This week, New York City feels like a scared, shivering dog with its tail between its legs. We’re all on edge, underneath. I’m sick to death of the media, of press conferences, the heavily weighted news reports designed to humiliate politicians and get partisans riled up. I’ve had it with the media – worse than politicians, if that’s possible. This stuff is brain-eating cancer to someone in a major city during a pandemic. People don’t know how to act here, save to keep their distance. As crazy as it sounds, the most humane thing I see people doing is maintaining a safe distance. I routinely encounter people on the sidewalk who, if we both keep our course, will pass within a foot of each other. One of us, most likely me, will stop, back off and let the person (or people) pass. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve got a friendly nod or “thank you” for doing this – and done the same in return. Maybe it’s the civility of being scared shitless, but it’s civility, nonetheless.

Recognizing the humanity of someone you’re passing on the street is something ingrained from my rural upbringing, but not so much the city. Sometimes you get it, usually not. Under normal circumstances, there are just too many people here. It becomes much easier to acknowledge in a pandemic! In that sense, New York City feels like a small town now. Less people on the street, all of us going through the same shit, easier to be kind.

Will it last? I’m sure you’ll read many articles in the next few weeks how this will change everything and mark the beginning of a new age. I suggest you take these articles with a grain of salt.

Why? Let’s go back to the fall of 2001. Post 9/11 world. Everything had changed. I can’t tell you how many articles I read at the time that put forth all sorts of grandiose concepts regarding humanity in general and New York City in particular. True, for at least a year or two, there did seem to be something else going on here. A few new threads weaved into our lives. Surely, efforts to combat terrorism took a quantum leap throughout the world.

But really? New York City went back to business as usual within a few years. Rents and property values sky-rocketed. It’s become much harder for middle and working-class people to live here – almost impossible in many neighborhoods. Whatever sense of humanity was generated and/or rhapsodized over by the media at the time, New York City became more cut-throat after the brunt of 9/11 lessened. Entire classes of people have been erased from neighborhoods they built and lived in for decades. The cost of living has grown prohibitive and inhumane. But this pandemic is going to change everything and transform us into higher life forms!

No, it won’t. Yes, it will for awhile, I would guess for a few years. But then it will be absorbed into a city with centuries of history, and a world with a much longer and larger history. This city has absorbed wars, depressions. influenza, outbreaks of civil strife, riots, uprisings, crime waves, etc. The coronavirus pandemic of 2020, sure as any other major event in world history, will be absorbed, too. Many things will be learned from it. Hopefully, there will be some major breakthroughs in vaccines and pandemic prevention. But I suspect if you revisit New York City in 2030, you’re going to find a much harder, less diverse, more expensive place to live.

A few words on face masks, the burning issue of the week. Do I wear one? Sometimes, but not all the time, when I’m in public. If I’m out walking, and clearly not encountering a lot of passers by on the street, I don’t have a face mask on. I don’t like these things. They don’t feel sanitary: sweaty lips and wet nose, stuffy, breathing recycled air. From what I’m seeing, if people are exercising in some respect – running, biking or hard walking – they’re not using face masks. I can’t imagine doing my normal 3-4 mile walks with one on. (I usually walk along a near-deserted stretch of road leading past the power plant in Astoria, down to the river and Astoria Park. If it's raining, I'll walk along the park edge as there will be far less people. Sunny day, forget it, too many people. I've noticed the same phenomenon with supermarket lines.)

That said, when I find myself approaching a stretch of road where I see more people, I put it on, particularly the normally bustling streets of my neighborhood (31^st Street and Ditmars Boulevard). I can see, more people around, more contact. I surely wear it in supermarkets, drug stores and getting take out. All the supermarkets have lines now to get in, taking anywhere from a few minutes to half an hour. Once in, it’s a comfortable shopping experience with few customers. I still don’t waste any time – get my shit and get out. I normally make small visits to supermarkets during the week. It’s a much better idea now to do it once and stock up. Most people I encounter in these enclosed public spaces are wearing masks and gloves, staying the hell away from each other.

I note this because the media has me feeling like I’ll be clutching at my throat and shrieking if I dare go out the door without a mask on. I’ve been acutely self-aware and careful since this thing began. I don’t sneeze or cough in public. My bare or gloved hand does not touch my face. I wash my hands thoroughly, at least four times a day, sometimes more. If you get this thing from me, I have no clue how that would happen, with or without a face mask. You’re not going to get “droplets” in the air or on any part of your body from me. From the moment the severity of this pandemic was made clear to me in mid-March, I assumed that I “had it,” was asymptomatic and conducted myself accordingly.

If someone is acting like a slob on the street – which I see routinely - you’re going to see me walking in or crossing to the other side of the street. Asshole avoidance. This is nothing new. Anyone who’s worked in midtown Manhattan knows what it means to walk in the street to avoid packs of aimless tourists and smartphone zombies. Sometimes now I’ll walk in the street to give someone passing by their six feet. Like foot traffic, car traffic in NYC has greatly decreased. Most people I’m encountering these days have their shit together, regardless of what they’re wearing or not wearing. I’m not worried about offending someone who’s carrying himself like a complete dick.

Your other choice is to barricade yourself in a small apartment and drive yourself insane. I have to get out, every day. It preserves some sense of normalcy – the main lesson I learned in the days after 9/11. I’ve had it with celebrities, “sheltering in place” in massive duplex apartments and mansions with sprawling properties light years away from our cramped living spaces. Try “sheltering in place” in studio or crackerbox one or two-bedroom apartments. It’s a struggle.

It comes down to how much shit you can handle and stay sane. How empathetic and disciplined you are. If you’re a good New Yorker, these things are ingrained in you. Or they are not. Plenty of people live here, are sometimes born and raised here, and are lost and forsaken. Thus, the dirty, crumpled medical gloves in the streets, and the uneasy feeling that the door is going to hit our asses on the way out.