Social Distancing

I’ve been practicing social distancing in New York City for years, although I have a different name for it: Getthefuckawayfromme.

I can’t recall exactly when I started in with Getthefuckawayfromme. Surely not my first decade or two here. I loved crowded bars, concerts, movies, museums, even parades. Coming from a rural area and never having experienced it before, I reveled in the novelty of the city’s bustle. When you’re new to a city, you embrace everything about it, the good with the bad. I’d yet to realize that being on packed subways, then in crowded office buildings, then in gyms, then in jammed restaurants and nightclubs could have a corrosive effect.

But it surely did, over time. In the last decade, I’ve found myself placing much more emphasis on “alone” time when I get out of work. Not worrying if I wasn’t seeing a great band play. (Of course, never the opening act, usually in a deeply uncomfortable, nose-to-back-of-head club, sometimes standing for hours, while one act, then another, played, and my band would finally come on around 10:30, play until midnight, then I’d have to take a ghostly and sometimes frightening subway ride back to the Bronx or Queens, then get up for work the next day with about four hours sleep. That didn’t get “old, fast” … but it got old.)

As time went on, I found myself irritated by people who didn’t respect boundaries. There are myriad subway circumstances of riders invading personal space. People who stand too close in grocery and drug store lines, never mind shopping as though they were high and oblivious of everyone around them. The advent of smartphones. This was a catastrophe in terms of respecting social space; I’ll never get used to it. Previously, New Yorkers had prided themselves on that quiet street savvy: how to move, read body language, avoid being a pain in the ass for other people, avoid people who were a pain in the ass. Life after smartphones, we’re plunged into a world of self-absorbed zombies with the street smarts of a five-year-old. (“Street smarts” are simply self-awareness and empathy in a tight urban environment.)

Thus, the past few weeks in New York City have been a more acute version of Getthefuckawayfromme. To a lesser degree, I’ve been practicing it for years. After jury duty in November, my big daily ritual involved boxing classes in gyms. Without the daily routine of work, I focused on something that would get me out of the house for a few hours, doing something positive, connecting to people socially, etc. Even in a gym, the worst times are in the locker room, being jammed in too closely with flaming narcissists and ageing frat boys.

It’s been a surprise to realize that social distancing now implies a few slight tweaks to my lifestyle in New York City, as opposed to a major overhaul that leave many feeling alone and despondent. I sure do miss boxing. I miss work, too, that casual sense of power and self-importance we all get from bringing in a nice paycheck and feeling “essential” in a social format. Well, a CEO sneezes, and you’re no longer essential.

I’m not sure where this thing is going. I read something today, that the mayor is saying “half of all New Yorkers” will get the coronavirus. Does that seem odd to you? We’re coming up on 500,000 people having this worldwide. So … 4.3 million New Yorkers are going to get this thing? The fuck? I can’t decide whether the guy’s lost his mind or if he has a mad, blind seer on his staff, in a hooded robe, who foresees dark things that no one in their right minds can.

We need to define what “getting this thing” implies. For all I know, I may have already had it or have it now (another reason to be careful around other people). I feel fine – some minor sinus stuff that I get every year when the trees begin to blossom, which is full-on right now. Apparently, there’s a huge cross section of people who will get this thing and not even know it. Another large cross section of people will get this thing and receive a “stay home and rest” diagnosis similar to having the flu. A smaller number will get this thing and be hospitalized, and of that number, a much smaller number will die. I’ve seen reports that the usual diagnosis rate for people getting tested now is around 10%, meaning 9 out of 10 people who go to these testing sites don’t have it. They’re either having symptoms of something else, or are hypochondriacs who have had their heads filled with fear and paranoia by the media.

When people from other parts of the country check in with me, they assume the city is in a state of pandemonium. It’s not. Earlier today, I jumped rope on the landlord’s back patio for half an hour. I saw a guy walking his dog. About three cars passed. That was it. In the afternoon, I went out for a long walk. Just as in the past few days, I saw a handful of runners and other walkers along a quiet stretch of road by the big Con Ed plant leading down to the East River. I walked down to Astoria Park, and I saw more people doing the same, but much less than usual. I walked the circumference of the park and saw a few guys using the outdoor calisthenics gym. (When this thing broke out, I thought I’d do the same myself but saw too many people using it without gloves – no way.) As I cut back through Astoria, I saw a few people here and there, a vast majority practicing safe Getthefuckawayfromme. More people are out on a nice day, hardly any on a rainy day.

I’m not bolting from my apartment, screaming and naked, floundering in a vision of hell like some medieval painting of lost souls being pitchforked and herded by government employees in hazmat suits, onto packed subway trains heading for the reorientation camps. It’s actually quiet, much like the blackout we had back in 2006 that I wrote about in the last book. The nights are very quiet. If there wasn’t a worldwide pandemic going on, I’d think the city had gone sane. (Keep in mind I have no idea what goes on in hospitals, which sound like war zones.)

My last subway trip into Manhattan was early last week. I had ordered a DVD from Amazon to ship to one of their Hub locker locations on 34^th Street. (I ordered this before the world ended.) I left around noon, making sure to wear gloves, not touching anything in the subway station or train. There were a half dozen people on the car: a homeless dude sleeping in the corner, a guy and his girlfriend with facial tattoos on there with a bicycle, two burly guys with beards and a guy on his smartphone who got a serious dose of Getthefuckawayfromme attitude from me when he started in with that meandering, walk-nowhere-in-particular-while texting style referenced above. None of them was wearing gloves or masks. Everyone was touching handrails and doors with bare hands. I realized I was on a subway car with a small assortment of bozos who weren’t properly grasping what was going on.

I got into Manhattan, subway station had roughly a dozen cops in it. When I got above ground, I was shocked to see how desolate midtown was. I likened it to the scene in the original 80s version of Red Dawn where Patrick Swayze and a few of the other kids go back into town after the Russians took over. Bereft of the usual throngs of workers and tourists, the only people left were the assorted freaks, weirdoes and assholes you’d normally find haunting Port Authority and Penn Station. It was depressing much more than frightening. I decided to walk back to Queens from there. Luckily, when I got into a more residential neighborhood (the 50s on the east side), I could see life was more normal, people carefully going about their business in gloves and masks. But I made a vow not to take another subway ride until this thing blew over. Since then, I’ve been in Astoria the whole time in the much more sedate environs I’ve described.

It’s only when I watch the news, or more directly, go into supermarkets or drugstores that I feel the brunt of this thing. I’m more prone to watching the press conferences now and only the local news at 6:00. The rest of it is indicative of a society where the media blows every crisis into “end times” proportions, making everyone upset and angry. I’m ignoring that. Mind you, not ignoring what I need to know when I head out the door every day. But ignoring all this other bullshit that feels like cancer of the soul – watching too much of the news must be what it feels like to lose your mind.

You’ll find the main reason why this thing is spreading in the drugstores and supermarkets of New York City. At the height of this thing in our country, maybe in the world right now, no other place is more contagious, yet you still have people in these public places without gloves. This is going to be how a vast majority of people get this thing: by touching contaminated surfaces and transferring the virus to their noses and mouths. Young and old alike, there’s a blithe unawareness of what’s going on right now and how you should be handling it. I’m trying to go to the supermarkets as little as possible – never mind the depressingly picked-over shelves. Last Friday, I went to the Best Yet market down the hill from me, near the Steinway Piano Factory. Since this market has a parking lot, it draws in a lot more than neighborhood people who can walk there. Approaching the store, I saw there was a line of about 30 people waiting to get in. It had opened an hour earlier. It was then I realized people were treating this like Black Friday, showing up early to get "the best" groceries. The manager must have set crowd limits and was letting in customers one at a time, like a crowded night club.

Fuck that. I haven’t gone back since, although when I walked by yesterday, it didn’t look as bad. There are other options in the neighborhood, strictly walk-in stores. Toilet paper? Forget it – not yet in NYC! Luckily, I had bought a four-roll before the world ended and realized long ago there are better ways to do this. Hand sanitizer? None to be found, anywhere. My landlord’s healthcare assistant came back with a bottle the other day; the nearby dollar store had them behind the counter. I went down, and they were already gone, another feeding frenzy in the time it took her to walk up the hill and me down. Surprisingly, the meat section in all the markets has come back since being non-existent for the better part of two weeks. Bread is doing better, too, after being decimated. I needed 100-watt lightbulbs as I just ran out, only to find some asshole(s) completely wiped out the supply at the Trade Fair on Ditmars. Luckily, the C Town by the subway train was well stocked. That’s how it is now, piecing together what you need in different places.

The worst part is the people without gloves. Almost as bad, the smug looks on their faces, young and old alike: this thing is bullshit, and I’m not changing a damn thing about how I live. I can see it in their eyes. You want to know why this thing has spread like wildfire in NYC? It’s not the “hub of international travel, people from all over the world pass through here” bullshit. Atlanta has the busiest airport in the world – why aren’t they pounding the same numbers? It’s because of people like this who, through sheer arrogance and stupidity, think they’re above it all, in a cramped city where people are in constant contact with each other. Given that I’m in contact with a few older folks who could have a death sentence if they caught this thing, I’m not above it all. That’s not the only reason, but reason enough to wear gloves when I have to touch anything in public, wash my hands thoroughly before and after I’m around other people, etc.

Will the rest of the country get hit as hard as New York? I hope not. From what I’ve heard, the supermarket insanity has gone on everywhere, with hoarders and resellers making life hard on everyone. It’s easier to feel safer and more isolated in places where you drive your car to get things done, like go to work or buy groceries. Reality is, people aren’t safe or isolated when they go out in public and interact, whether it’s a city teeming with people or a rural outpost. There are ways to make yourself safer in this respect. I would wager how seriously people take these things will determine how deep and wide this thing goes in America.

Coronavirus

While New York City isn’t Ground Zero for the coronavirus in America, it’s not too far from it. We are in the shit, so to speak, in ways that feel mildly similar to how the city felt in the weeks after 9/11. The vibe back then was utter devastation that at first was mixed with profound sadness, but quickly turned to rage, then defiance. We were going to live like normal human beings again, no matter what, knowing that wasn’t going to happen for months.

This time, who do you get mad at? A bunch of poor-ass, rural Chinese eating crazy shit purchased in “wet” markets? While we probably don’t have markets as unregulated here, I’d bet you’d have your mind blown visiting smaller scale markets in Chinatown and Flushing, Queens. Just down the road from here is a small slaughterhouse that handles live chickens, goats and cows, customers coming in and purchasing meat directly from them. Blame Trump? Go ahead, but despite his initial address to the nation that felt like a sophomore reading off a teleprompter in a high-school TV production class, he’s getting better as this thing goes along and made the smart move of blocking travel to/from China when the rest of the world was dumping on him for doing so. (And I’m no fan!) I’ve turned off much of the media as it’s shady and alarmist by nature, but I can’t be bothered with finger-pointing articles. Now’s not the time.

At first, I resented the NYC restrictions that went into place on Monday morning. I had my last boxing class at the gym with my instructors, Peter and Kid, that morning down around Wall Street. Two of us showed up! I hadn’t realized the gym had already contacted staff and instructors to let them know there would be at least a two-week shutdown (although I suspect it will be longer). Peter worked my ass off, putting me through five rounds of pad work. (We normally get one two-minute round for a class of 8-12 people, two if we’re lucky.) We finished with Peter's patented "500" - 500 stomach reps comprised of five separate 100-series exercises. It was good to work that hard, knowing it would be the last session for awhile. I was pissed to know this was it for a few weeks and left wondering how I was going to stay healthy in the meantime.

Then I walked out on Pine Street and watched some douchebag blow his nose by pressing one finger on a nostril and exhaling a glob of mucus on the sidewalk. It was then I realized, this is all necessary. There’s no escaping people like this, who seem to be living in a permanent vacuum. And we’re all in the same world of shit when it comes to contagion, no matter how careful or slovenly we are.

I promptly went home, found my leather jump rope, the push-up handles in my closet and the yoga mat I never use, realizing I could put together a solid workout on the landlord’s back patio a few times a week. Never mind that I’ll feel like an inmate in Super Max getting his one hour of daylight. I can also go running or walking in various parks in the city, for now. I’m not sure what this “lockdown” implies, but it seems to me that keeping yourself in good physical condition, in open air without being in physical contact with anyone, is a reasonable concept. The way this thing sometimes feels – like a 10-ton weight hanging over my head – I get the impression I’m supposed to be in my apartment 24-7. People are guaranteed to lose their minds living this way; I hope we don’t cross that bridge.

I think most people are out of their “party like it’s the Weimar Republic circa 1920” phase. Officially, they have to be as the bars are closed, but I saw more than a few people jamming the bars last Saturday afternoon and laying it on thick, young and old alike. I also suspect this will be a time of “decadence” in that people will conspire to have clandestine drinking sessions in public places. Because we’re young, wild, free, etc. I’m as sick of the hype and overkill as anyone else, but I’m still not going to tempt fate, especially in a house with elderly women living in the apartments above mine. Why run the risk of ruining or ending their lives so I can live out my Baz Luhrmann movie?

If my experience with hard times in New York holds true, meaning the AIDS epidemic, L.A. Riots (which had a frightening, under-reported effect on NYC), 9/11, the various blackouts, numerous recessions, the 2008 financial collapse, people are going to both lose the thread and come together in ways that will be troubling and uplifting. The vibe I get walking around the streets the past few days is one of mild optimism. People know bad shit is going on, it will get worse, but what can you do except go on living and try to make the best of it. I haven’t seen people losing their shit or causing scenes; the only places I’m sensing that are on the nightly news and at the supermarket. If you want to be “a New Yorker” in a true sense you must do something: live through this. Whether “this” is a depression, the ass falling off the city in the 1970s, the crack and murder epidemics of the 80s … or this pandemic, right now. You get a few dog-assed eras like that under you belt, then you get this place in ways most people never will. I can’t tell you how many people bailed on this city after going through shit times like those noted above. (Of course, some just bailed because they found better options elsewhere, but let’s ignore those people.)

Lately I feel like I’m losing the thread here, like trying to find a job the past few months and wondering if I’m the invisible man. Or feeling like I’m about to be erased at any moment by skyrocketing rents. These aren’t pleasant feelings, and they’re persistent. But really? Compared to the massive doses of fear and paranoia generated over the past few weeks, I’m not feeling overly upset. I can control how I handle the coronavirus because I’ve dealt with worse over the course of years here; I’m having a harder time controlling these other more personal things that in a more subtle way are as destructive as any hurricane or pandemic.

I saw a strange thing yesterday afternoon while walking in Astoria Park, down by the East River. Cars park along the river drive all the time. Guys comparing street rods. Families taking pictures by the bridges or admiring the view of Manhattan. People relaxing and trying to get away from it all for a few minutes. There was this white guy, probably in his 50s, had not aged well, pasty, gray and paunchy, leaning on the side of his muscle car. “Asshole” was the thought bubble that appeared over my head. I caught the smell of skunk weed on the breeze. A guy this age smoking pot in public? Come on, man. Not only that, I could hear “Don’t Believe the Hype” by Public Enemy echoing from a car stereo. Turned out it was his! It was such an incongruous mix of images and details that I had my mind blown. The guy looked like R. Lee Ermey gone to seed. He didn’t say anything as I passed, only scowling and smoking as the dark water of the East River rolled towards the sea, the towers of Manhattan shining in the background.

It took me about 50 yards of walking away from that dude to realize how much I liked him. Maybe an asshole, I thought, but an asshole I could respect at this moment in the city’s history. That guy’s not going anywhere, and he’s going to get through this thing.

My final words on this: if you’re going to hoard anything in these strange days, don’t let it be toilet paper. Let it be sanity. I will forever be at a loss with the “toilet paper” thing. Either people are taking astonishingly large shits out there, or a lot of my fellow countrymen have completely lost their minds. I stand to be corrected, but it sounds like many of us would rather sit.