Picaresque: (noun)- fiction dealing with the adventures of a rough dishonest but broadly-appealing character.
“I’m surprised you haven’t blogged about it.”
On Thursday I had run into an acquaintance at a coffeehouse, and as we stood in line next to the periodical stand we browsed the headlines. The article facing us on the front page of Thursday’s Philadelphia Inquirer was in a bold-faced 78-font proclaiming, “AS TOLL CLIMBS, BAN DEFIED.”
How clever, I thought wryly. A double anapest with end rhyme.
This headline referred of course to the at least 150 foundering restaurants in Pennsylvania defying the state ban on indoor dining. “The restaurant owners could face fines or temporary closures for flouting the new restrictions,” the article stated.
He was right. I should blog about it. Because when it comes to social distancing, masks, Zoom education, lockdowns, the eradication of high school sports, the closing of college campuses, the disintegration of family holidays and the ruining of people’s livelihoods, oh boy, do I have strong opinions.
I’ve taken notes on it. Written about it. Debated with friends and colleagues about it. Stayed up at night running the arguments through my mind. But no matter how hard I try, I simply cannot comprehend what is happening in this country. There seems to be no logic to it. The state and national decisions that are being made seem arbitrary and capricious, and not actually based on science or reason. But I’m not sure. I mean, I’m not a doctor, so in the immortal words of Miley Cyrus, WTF Do I Know.
But I do know that I’m worried.
I’m worried about restaurant and gym owners who have sunk every dime they have into their businesses. That they can’t pay their mortgages, feed their children, save for college educations. They have to nip away at their savings, clear out their nest eggs, all for…what? For that rogueish imp ‘Rona, with her *98% survival rate?
I worry that our beautiful cities, run by immoral goons, are on the verge of ruin. That theater, dining and culture will never recover.
I worry about the children who live in low-income, abusive or addiction-riddled homes for whom school and coaches and teachers and sports and activities is their only refuge from neglect and abuse. Only teachers see firsthand the full-impact that a warm classroom, a beloved teacher, a hot meal and a friendly smile has on these disenfranchised kids. For them, school is all the structure they have.
I’m worried about the future of education, and that this generation of students will never recover from such a serious lapse in face-to-face consistent instruction. The sociological, psychological, and educational impact will not be seen for decades. By then I’ll be an old lady, but just remember you heard it here first.
But there are two bright spots.
One is that fireworks are on sale everywhere. I guess firework companies are capitalizing on the fearful consumer. I mean, in the scheme of things, is anyone really worried about little Johnny losing a finger while lighting a cherry bomb in the front yard when a “deadly” virus with a 98% survival rate is sweeping through the country? The debate of bottled water vs. tap has also taken a backseat to Fear of the ‘Rona, as well as grim warnings about swimming in brackish water and walking on thin ice. And to my knowledge no oil tankers have spilled oil into our oceans recently, which will make for a very happy Lil’ Miss Thunberg and some super safe fishies.
Simpler times. But I digress.
The second bright spot is that I am currently not a journalistic prostitute on the payroll of any newspaper masthead with the power to coerce me to write crappy shitty poopy excrement-filled biased headlines like, “As Tolls Climb, Ban Defied.” I’m not under any contractual obligation to publicly vilify struggling business owners who are simply trying to pay their bills and their employees.
(How long have I been asleep? What has happened? How have business owners who simply want to meet their payroll become the bad guys?)
I’d like to offer some alternatives to that underwear-stain of a headline that paint these restaurant owners for what they truly are- struggling heroes:
“Despite Threats of $300 Fines, Steadfast Restaurant Owners Band Together”
“Struggling Pennsylvania Restaurant Owners Stay Open to Avoid Laying Off Loyal Employees Before Christmas”
“Trade Group Says Restaurant Industry on the Brink of Disaster, and ‘Just Trying to Survive’”
“Pennsylvania Department of Agriculture Threatens Unannounced Visits to Noncompliant Restaurants. Owners Welcome the PDA to Kiss Their Asses and Shove It Where the Sun Don’t Shine”
I like to think that if I were a Pennsylvania restaurant owner, that I’d be non-compliant too. If the Pennsylvania governor and the Department of Agriculture threatened me, I would keep opening and keep paying fines until I was broke. Then I’d keep opening some more. And as I was being dragged away in handcuffs, I’d smile as the Philadelphia Inquirer staff photographer snapped my picture (unless of course I was tazed, which in that case I would not be conscious). I’d smile, knowing that one day I could show that picture to my grandchildren and tell them that against all odds, I had stood up for what I believed in.
Flashforward:
Grandchild is visiting, and sitting at my kitchen counter looking through an old photo album. “Look at this one, Grandmom. Who are those policemen? And why are you sticking your tongue out at the camera?”
Using spatula to pry warm chocolate chip cookies off the cookie tray. “Well, it seemed like the right thing to do at the time, honey.”
Grandchild looks up. “But why are you holding up your middle finger?”
“Same reason. Here, have some cookies.”
*Of course even one mortality is one too many. It’s silly of you to think that I am implying otherwise; also, while I was asleep, the survival rate has changed from 99% to 98%. It’s a lot of Fauci-speak, but here’s the link if you want to read it:
(Tomorrow: Confederacy of Dunces Part 2: Oveservations. If what we’ve been asked to do for nine months hasn’t worked, why do we have to keep doing it? Ever hear of the definition of insanity?)