Work and Plague

Everything seemed normal until I stepped off the elevator.

I returned to my office on Friday morning after working from home for three days as our company—along with the rest of the world—ducks and covers from COVID-19.

I didn’t want to be here. As a lifelong hypochondriac, the very mention of sickness has me diving under the bed and reaching for the Rosary beads.

But I had an appointment with audiologist in the morning and then I planned to hit the gym after the work, do some shopping for my auntie and run like hell back to Brooklyn.

The fact that this was Friday the 13th didn't help matters worth a damn.

As I stood in the pouring rain waiting for my bus, I thought that I must be the only idiot in town going into the city during a plague. Yet the X27 was packed and traffic on the Belt Parkway was bumper to bumper.

The ride into Manhattan seemed normal except, perhaps, when the bus driver cheerfully reminded us to wash our hands.

The Oculus was crowded, as it always is during rush hour, and the only things slightly out of the ordinary were a few people in surgical masks and a guy standing by the PATH train entrance handing out religious booklets.

“Only Jesus can save you,” he harangued the passing commuters who devoutly ignored him. “Only Jesus can save you!”

I felt compelled to take one of his booklets. Usually I get annoyed with these fanatics who always materialize whenever there’s a crisis, but this man wasn’t hurting anybody.

And if this pandemic gets anywhere near as bad as the experts say it will, if we’re really only weeks away from the nightmare that’s ravaging Italy right now, I might be standing right next to him handing out booklets, too.

I had just about convinced myself that this was like any other day, until I stepped off the elevator at the 27th floor and walked into complete darkness.

It only took a second for the motion detectors to switch on the lights, but it was long enough to remind me that the we are living in a different time.

There were only handful of people on the entire floor and as I looked at the rows and rows of empty desks, the blank computer screens, and the overall lack of life, I thought of “Ghost Town,” a song from way back in 1981 by The Specials.

Corona, Corona…

This town is coming like a ghost town, all the clubs have been closed down…

The song was written in a different time about a different city facing a different challenge, but it seems like the perfect soundtrack for these pandemic days.

Do you remember the good old days before the ghost town? We danced and sang, and the music played in a de boomtown…

I usually have a fabulous view from my office, but on Friday I could see nothing but fog and rain swirling outside the window.

We’re all in the same situation now, trying to keep calm and carry on as we move blindly through the dark clouds.

Life as we know it is shutting down; Broadway, Disneyland, schools, churches, and entire countries are in lockdown.

This is now the age of social distancing, something I’ve been doing most of my life—until the loneliness and despair got so bad that I forced myself to get the hell out of the house, meet people, and do something other than the "Netflix and Rot" routine.

Now everyone is getting in on my act and while the comfort zone-seeking side of my personality probably welcomes the isolation, I know this is an unnatural and unhealthy way to live and I wish I had been more outgoing when I had the chance.

It turned out my aunt didn’t need any help shopping, but she did call to strenuously warn me against going to my boxing class out of fear of being exposed to the coronavirus.

I’ve been in denial about this all week, but it’s hard to ignore the reality. You’re sweating and moving around in a small room with a bunch of strangers.

Edgar Allen Poe wrote a story called "The Masque of the Red Death," where a corrupt prince throws a party for his noblemen, oblivious to a plague that is ravaging the countryside—until it shows up uninvited.

It was written in a different time and about a different place, but it comes to mind now as we contend with a relentless predator that is not in the least bit impressed by bulging biceps or washboard abs.

The rain stopped by midday and by quitting time the sun was shining on what looked like an entirely different day. I could see Jersey across the river and down to the Verrazzano Narrows Bridge.

It was hard to believe there was anything to be afraid of out there and I’m hoping that soon we’ll be able sing and dance while the music plays in a de boomtown.

I don’t know when I’ll get back to my office and it occurs to me know that I left the PATH station preacher’s booklet on my desk. I sure as hell ain’t going back for it, but I do recall the quotation on the cover.

It was Psalm 104:5: “He set the earth on its foundations, never to be moved.”

Let us pray.