love in the time of coronavirus

After 15 months of unemployment (roughly halved between "I don't wanna go back to work yet" and "I CAN'T go back to work yet due to injury/my dad's health issues"), I finally found a job at the same massage center I've been going to for 15 years.  The pay was mediocre, there were no benefits aside from a free massage every month (and any additional massages 20% off), and it was only part-time, but it was casual dress and two miles from home.  Besides, I figured if I'm moving out of state in a few months (not that I told THEM that), now wasn't really the time to get a full-time job anyway.

About two days after I was hired, news began spreading about a mysterious new virus in China. 

Work was...well, work.  As Morrissey once sang, "I was looking for a job and then I found a job/and heaven knows I'm miserable now".  I wasn't miserable, but I sure did miss doing whatever the hell I wanted 24/7.  But hey, I'm an adult, and adults generally have to work, and besides, it was nice to have money coming in instead of going out all the time, as paltry as the sum was.

My training went by pretty well, because I knew C, the woman training me, from my previous visits to the massage center.  C was very patient with me and praised me for the way I handled the occasional horndog (i.e. guys calling wanting to know if we offered "special services"; I played dumb and talked about reiki and hot stone massages until they either hung up or barked "Happy ENDINGS, do you offer happy ENDINGS?" at which point I would coolly tell them no and hang up) and stalker (a man obsessed with one of our therapists to the point of waiting for her by her car).  As the oldest receptionist by, uh, quite a lot, I used my Big Mom Energy to wilt all those desperate dicks greedy for a rub and tug and send them packing.

I was figuring things out pretty well, for the most part.  I accidentally counted a credit card charge as a cash payment, which led to a panicked moment when the count came up short at the end of the night, and texted "I hope she dies!" (instead of "I hope she does!") to a therapist about a potential client, which would be an awful typo at any time, but especially during an epidemic.

News kept coming in.  Cases exploded around the globe.  It was officially ruled a pandemic.  People started calling to cancel their massages because they were afraid.  I began wondering if I should quit; although I used hand sanitizer regularly and spent idle time wiping down the counters with Lysol wipes (as my old Blockbuster manager used to say, if you've got time to lean, you've got time to clean), I still didn't like facing the general public.

Then my manager called to tell me they were drastically reducing the open hours of the massage center.  Since I was by far the newest hire, I was not first, second, or even third in line for what meager hours were available.  The manager told me she would be in contact when things "calmed down".

I was employed for exactly 9 days.

As of midnight, California went on lockdown.  All non-essential businesses closed (which I assume means the massage center too), all non-essential errands and appointments strictly discouraged.  I wondered what would be left at the end of all this?  Would the small family-run burger joint I frequent, which has the ambience of a toilet but good cheap food, go out of business?  Is the librarian who always smiles and asks me about G healthy?  Will the libraries reopen?  I learned that one of my Hidden City friends died; was it because of this?  My friend had to postpone her wedding; will it ever happen?  Will the Las Vegas Strip reopen?  (Scratch that; if it doesn't, then basically the world is done for.)  Will G and I be able to move as planned?

And most of all: does my brother, who is autistic, have enough supplies?  Will his landlady look out for him?  Is my dad's assisted living facility taking good care of him?  (He assures me they are, but ARE they?)  Will my friends and my family be okay?  Will we ever get to enjoy a simple pleasure like a weekday matinee or a leisurely dinner out again?

Do I have enough toilet paper?  Do I have enough food?  Do I have enough money?  Will I ever have a job again?  Will I ever get to travel again?  Will I ever feel safe again?  Will I ever stop thinking "this is it, we all well and truly fucked now"?  What if the mail stops coming? What if I can't get my medicine?  What if my laptop dies?  What if my Kindle dies?  What if...well, I won't go there. 

To quote another Smiths lyric, "Could life ever be sane again?"

Please.

Please let the answer be yes.