scenes from a pandemic, pt. iii

Today was my first day back to work and, coincidentally, the first day Governor Inslee's stay at home order was in effect. The streets felt like nighttime streets. There was still traffic, but not much--one or two cars at a time at most; much more frequently just stretches of empty road. People on streets behave differently at night. There is no longer the assumption that a car might be coming at any time because there probably isn't; instead they simply rely on the fact that they'll probably see one coming if there is one. It felt like that. Downtown was the worst. In the U District, there were still plenty of people milling about, but downtown felt deserted.

I was given a little sheet of paper to give to the cops in case they harass me for being out, which is surreal. It doesn't look particularly official but it says where I work and that my work is considered an essential business and that, as such, it's essential that I be out there. I don't think it will be a problem, though--cyclists and joggers are out in force, especially on the multi-use bike trail I take home. With the exception of the occasional mask, you'd be forgiven for thinking that it doesn't seem like anyone on the trail is aware that the city has been shut down.

Business, as you can imagine, is very slow. Slower than it was two weeks ago, the last time I went to work, and slower, I'm told, than it was even yesterday, when the stay-at-home order was not yet in effect. The usual expectation in service jobs of trying to find something to do even if there are no customers was gone. The handful of customers we encountered seemed grateful that we were open--there are not many places downtown that have elected to keep their doors open, as it trns out.

Residential concierge desks downtown seem to have set up a little system where they tape off an area several feet away from the desk and ask you to stand behind the line when interacting with them. Like all of this, it feels strange. Just another reminder that whatever you thought of as normal is gone, now. The rules have changed.

At my first residential delivery of the day, there was a wedding going on in the lobby. A small gathering of people--four or five at most, maybe less. It was sweet, and sad, and strange: while the concierge asked me questions from a list about whether I was currently feverish or had recently been to China, someone else started trying to talk to me, telling me to wait so that I didn't interfere with the wedding. I stood aside until the bride had walked down the lobby to where her betrothed and the officiant waited.

That image will stick with me, I think. In many ways it captures the feeling of every interaction I had with people today. There is a profound sense of loss, of uncertainty, but people are doing their best to get by, to find little moments of joy where they can, to be kind to one another.