Shut out

Shut out

Unkempt, wearing a bath rob, slumped over his computer surrounded by take-out bags and dirty mugs. His face drained of joy and expression, John taps away at the keyboard updating his blog.

“January 25, 2022. Where are we now? The fifth wave, is it? At least that’s how they’re identifying this particular moment in the apparently endless Groundhog Day that is the global pandemic. We’re slowly approaching two years of restriction, isolation, and fear. Well, at least I am. Immunocompromised. Such a complicated and weak word. So important before, and inconsequential now. At first, we were the concern. The vulnerable members of society, unable to stand up for themselves. The people that everyone, well almost everyone, were rallying to protect. Although, they were more likely worried that they would lose the immune response lottery and meet an early end, unconscious and face down in a lonely hospital bed. When all this Covid nonsense started the population still sacrificed their wants and attempted to contain the virus. Now though, now we’re a burden. We’re the awkward friend with mobility issues who must be considered when making plans. We’re the shark bite victim, wailing to their fevered death on a party beach in southeast Asia. Yes, I’m referencing that movie. When someone gets cancer, the entire community is a buzz with concern, but as the months and chemo treatments drag on, the community no longer wants this joy kill in their collective forethoughts. They just want the unfortunate victim to quietly go away, not in malice, but because their emotions have fatigued, and they want to focus on their lives. Not the life of the cancer guy. That’s where we are now”

*Ding, ding*

John’s head lifts and he looks past the mound of detritus he had accumulated on his desk and looks at the door of his apartment. Weird. He thinks. I haven’t ordered dinner yet. Maybe a parcel? He pushes himself back from his portal to the world and rises while pulling the rob tighter around himself. Shambling over to the door he couldn’t think of what or who it could be, visitors had stopped shortly before the second wave slid over the area and he was hard pressed to remember ordering anything other than food in the last few weeks. He looked through the peephole, no smart door cam for his fixed income ass. No one was there. He stood back at arms reach and cracked the door. Peeping through the crack he could make out just enough to assume no one was there. Gently he creaked the door more and more open. There it was, a package with the familiar smile symbol printed on it. What did I order? He thought. Maybe it was that long lost exercise band set that never arrived? He reached for his mister and sprayed the package down before retrieving it from the stoop with gloved hands. He knew his precautions might be a bit over kill to say the least, but they kept him safe during the first wave, so when Omicron started looking as prevalent as it is, he decided to take up the practice he had perfected during the first wave.

He walked the box over to his counter and placed it there after moving some other old shipping containers. He slid a dirty chief’s knife, a fancy German branded one, through the tape and lifted the flaps to expose the internal packaging. A respirator. He had been drunk, as usual, the other night and decided he would need one so that he could finally escape his apartment prison. He had an instant pang of anxiety. If he had it, he might decide to go out, and then he would probably get Covid. He withdrew and let the flaps settle. He had half a mind to throw the box off the balcony.

John’s life was changed completely when he found out about his disease. There was a treatment, but although it extended his life, it took his focus and his energy. Which in turn took his fiancé, she wanted a baby, he refused to pass on his DNA. It took his job, without energy and focus, what could be provide. He lost his community of friends and acquaintances, you can only flake so often before people stop calling. However, his new life-style eventually placed him into a comfortable niche; where he found meaning and fulfillment. His maladies were alleviated by living a clean lifestyle, and one of the few friends that stuck around gave him a suggestion which he shyly took on. He began publishing cooking and lifestyle video’s to social media. People found his videos helpful, most importantly, people who were suffering conditions at least somewhat similar to his. He developed a small following making cooking, exercise, and just simple lifestyle hack videos. His struggle had turned into a triumph as he was now helping others. The life that he had once thought was over, had now flourished into that of a self-help guru, a leader in the community of waifs and gimps as he had called it. But then Covid happened. His world was turned upside down. He went from leading small groups of followers on neighborhood walk/runs, to not being able to go to the grocery store to pick up his gourmet foods. He went from talking about life style hacks, like planning around naps or planning his days to be as productive as possible, to learning how to handwash his cloths because he couldn’t go to the laundry room safely. He solved this by ordering an apartment sized washer and dryer unit, thankful that the super didn’t notice the delivery. However, now he had a washing machine in the middle of his kitchen, which was essentially a food prep studio for filming his gourmet whole-food-plant-based anti-inflammatory creations. His gym forays were turned into a let’s make the best of it “Sweat in to the oldies” style of boxing, dancercise, and calisthenics. His viewership fell in conjunction with his production value. He finally broke when the food he ordered kept degrading to the point of being expired. People don’t want to watch someone make a salad with wilted, yellow lettuce. He knew; he had once been in advertising. He lived in a major city, so there was never really any respite to the dangers of being around people, despite the lulls in infections between waves. He had been locked down for the past twenty-two months. Rum time. He thought, as he cast a glance at the mocking smiley face on the respirator’s shipping box.

Pouring some Navy and cola and microwaving some left over pizza, he sat down in his recliner to call it a day. Not that the day had comprised of much, he skipped the shower he was going to have. Skipped the dishes and laundry he was going to do. Skipped the, well everything except writing a touch on his blog, the only part of his social media he still updated. The rest of his day was passed on the internet and gaming. Wellness was out. Self care had divorced him. And housekeeping had settled into retirement. He looked like a homeless man living in a hoarder’s den. He turned on the news while he began taking his libations. Omicron. Protest. Ukraine. Middle East. Trudeau. Health officials. Finally, some teacher who was making the best of it by making little animations for her students… thanks for watching. Over the half hour he had refilled once, and was going for a third, but this time he returned to the computer instead of the recliner.

Setting his glass down his fingers went to the only work they really did anymore. “I am one of the forgotten, the Rudy or the Tiny Tim that everyone rooted for during the hype of the first volume, but now the people want a new story, another hype that can distract them from each of their individual hells. My two hours are up. This was bugging me, but you know what? Fuck it! As my faithful readers know, I used to be on a very high horse ranting about those with different opinions than me. But that changed. To recap, a little into this pandemic, feel free to look into past entries, I started into those idiots, the anti-maskers. Then when the vaccines came about, I dove into arguing the inane conspiracies and melodrama of the various Karen anti-vaxer attacks. But this changed. Why you ask? Suicide. Yup, I was gonna kill myself. Nope, not because of Karens, or racists, nor even conspiracists. I was simply done. I had been shut in for over a year and every time there was a possible solution something else would come up and there would be some part of the counterculture around trying to cheer on my imprisonment. So, I was going to take one last dramatic leap off my balcony, like a total asshole. I put on my now ill-fitting best clothes and slide open the balcony door, looking at my feet, cause let’s be honest, I was crying with shame over my failure at that point, I was ready to call it quits and meet whatever the pavement had to offer, but the weirdest thing happened. When I got onto my balcony, I heard a hoot. As in an owl hoot. I looked up and the ghostly face of an owl, google later informed me that it was a barn owl, was starring back at me. Just sitting there, perched on my balcony, it’s head spun all the way around to look at the stranger that had just entered its area. I froze and just looked at it, surprisingly I didn’t even think to get my camera. I know, I know, photos or it didn’t happen. It eventually turned back around, apparently after deciding I wasn’t a threat or food and flew off. I felt this deep sense of relief for some reason, for that moment I wasn’t thinking about everything I had lost. The world didn’t seem so stagnant anymore. I decided to live that day, and I went back inside. The next day I realized in this weird way, kind of like I maybe remembered something I had never known, that things always change. They always do. Tomorrow will not be like today, and eventually I’ll have joy again. Like I kept saying, after my diagnosis. I was broken, after vlogging; I found new life. So, at some point this insanity will change, I will probably find joy again. What does that have to do with Karens and the like you ask? A little bit after my epiphany I realized that they’re normal, they’ve always been around. There has always been someone afraid of universal health care, someone who refuses to wear a seat belt, people still drink and drive. They’re annoying, but a part of life. When you look at it they aren’t even enough of the population to be a major impact. Today, the news said that 84% of the population here in Canada have at least one dose. The anti-vaxxers are just people being people. Hell, there are a lot of people in my community that think I’m nuts for eating tofu because it’s processed. I don’t really know where I’m going at this point, I think I’m six drinks in at this point which certainly means no posting tonight, I don’t want another drunk post like a few weeks ago. I’m literally writing everything I’m thinking. LOL. Seriously, LMFAO, I needed that laugh. Oh, I almost forgot, the news was saying recently that the wealthy nations are giving COVAX, you know the UN charity for giving poor countries vaccines, well we’ve been giving them vaccines that are almost expired. Like, they’ve promised all these shots to developing worlds, but they’re sending them doses that are within weeks of expiring. So, the poor nations are getting them, box checked for the good guys, but they can’t possibly deliver the vaccines to arms in time. That’s a big reason why the developing world has such low vax rate. That’s a big reason why Omicron is locking me up. So, my triple vaxxed ass (immunocompromised people need +1 dose more than normal people) who is currently waiting for a few month for my booster, doctor’s orders, is a part of the problem. The rich nations created Omicron with their hoarding. I am Smaug. We are the reason for the fifth wave.”

Wow. He thought, as he sat back after his rant. I am some shit faced now. But…one more wont hurt. He rose, filled his glass for a last time. He turned and looked at his computer chair, grimaced and shook his head slightly, then his gaze shifted to his well-worn recliner. He smiled and stumbled toward the chair/bed and hopped on his favorite streaming site, the fourth season of one of his shows had dropped recently and he was due for some more escape. He started the show, and quickly noticed with a mild sense of nostalgia, no one was wearing masks. These characters didn’t know what mandates were. Weren’t worried about hospitals, they were just focused on their little criminal empire that they were running in middle America. He drifted off, with his final drink unfinished.

The next morning was filled with a touch of regret. He opened his eyes and saw the “Are you still watching?” message on his TV. He realized he had fallen asleep in his recliner, again. After having four too many, again. And not getting anything done, again. Shit. He closed his eyes, in order to try and avoid the need for ibuprofen and A.S.A. Maybe this time he would fall back asleep and he wouldn’t have to worry about it. Alas, he knew, these things were as inevitable as it was that he would be in this same situation within a few days. What time is it even? Maybe I can sleep a bit longer until… *Beep* *Beep*…*Beep* *Beep*. He always woke near this time, because at 8am his morning meds alarm would go off. Long ago he had put them off, but he quickly realized that going with out them was not an option. He guessed he would be taking some extra analgesics with this morning’s dose. He got up, and sure enough, he was right. A pulse throbbing headache admonished him for last nights escape. John shuffled over to the kitchen and began the routine. He poured out the old coffee, rinsed the carafe, and made a new pot after dumping yesterday’s grains in the compost. Two slices of store bought whole grain bread, he hadn’t completely fell off the health wagon yet, were inserted into the toaster. He reached into his near empty, save the condiments, fridge and pulled out the brand name vegan margarine. Artisanal foods hadn’t graced his cuisiné in months. He turned and accidentally began surveying the apartment. That was a bad idea. So, he turned again and saw the sink. Well, the dirty dishes that were obscuring the sink. He rinsed a water glass and took his meds. He was starting to understand that today was not going to be a productive day. His toast popped and the coffee maker started making that sucking noise that informs the operator that the coffee is almost done. Cup and margarined toast in hand he plunked down into the computer chair. He remembered about his drunken rant the night before and wanted to read it over while he fueled and caffeinated. He would at least be waiting until the ibuprofen kicked in before attempting to look at the apartment again. The display popped on and he started reading. "That is a lot of commas." He mumbled to himself. "There I go, joking about suicide. That will sure raise my readership numbers." He did like the end though and he had been planning on getting that point across somehow. But not that way. He pressed Ctrl+A, and finally a thankful Delete. He then opened a tab and started to scroll through his social media. *BaDing* a DM popped up from Kim. Kim was one of the people who had joined his little group of waifs. She had a similar condition to his. Before lockdown he had had a small club of people that went on hikes, walks, or other adventures together, most of which he streamed for others in his community to partake in. Kim was one of the originals, they had even gone on a couple dates before discovering they were better off as friends. He clicked the message.

“John, I just wanted to let you know that I really appreciated all the adventures we went on. They made those years barrable. I hope that those days will one day return for you.”

John’s curiosity piqued. This was not a normal Kim message. He replied. “What do you mean?” She read it. He went back to scrolling through photos of friends enjoying company, the outdoors, life. He checked back at the message window for Kim. It was still on read. No indication that she was writing back. Calm down John. He thought. Just because she left a weird message doesn’t mean she has to respond immediately to you. Back to scrolling. Funning videos, fails, animals, people trying to be the next cool thing. Back to Kim. Read. Still just sitting on read. Fuck it, I’ll message again. “That was a weird message you sent. Its kinda got my mind running, can you message back. Even if its just to say youre alright?” Send. This time he watched her chat bubble. Unread. He sat longer. Unread. Nope, there’s something wrong. People in his community had a lot of really good reasons to want to end things. He knew from first hand experience. Nope, I’m calling. *Ring…Ring…Ring…”This Kim, leave a message if you think I might actuall…” Click, he ends the call. What the Fuck! I’m being paranoid, who offs themselves at eight in the morning? He thinks as he tries to bargain with the situation. Unless she’s been up all night. Fuck! He looks over at the smiling box. I gotta go. He resolves. First, ride share app. His place to hers. Request. “Rodney will be there in 5 minutes”. Next; pants, shirt…cleaner shirt, shoes, he doubted he had clean socks, coat, hat, gloves. Finally, the respirator. He put it on. How do you even wear these things. Fumbling, he takes it off and figures out that the canisters need to clip to the mask. He puts it back on, tugs at the straps. How do I know if I did it right? There is a bit of a restriction to his breathing and when he talked he sounded computerized yet muffled. *ding* “Rodney is around the corner”. John flew to the elevator a little freaked out that there would be people at or in it. Thankfully it was empty, he must have missed the morning rush. At the lobby he saw one of his older neighbors who gave him a strange look and said “Dressed kinda nice to be fumigating, don’t ya think?” she laughed. She was wearing a cloth mask with a floral design.

“Wawa Waa Waaa.” He replied. He thought he said, “Sorry can’t talk.” But it was what it was. He kept his distance from her and darted out the lobby door. Outside he saw Rodney parked in front of the building. John jumped in and looked at the rear-view mirror. Rodney’s eyes were wide. “Hey, what’s with the gas mask?” He wanted to know. Rodney was wearing a black disposable medical mask.

When John is stressed, John wants to be funny, he repressed the urge to reply with, "Rodney, I am your father." with some heavy breathing, instead he went with. “Wa Waawawawwawwawaa.” Well the big harry beast sounds were still on brand with his desired joke.

“Sorry man, I don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Wm wmmunwwcompwwoowwd.” He said louder. He was trying to say I’m immunocompromised.

“What? Man, masks are required, but that ones a little overkill. I have some disposables here if you want one?

John partly in frustration and partly in order to get the point across, shook his head vigorously. And yelled. “I can’t get sick!”

Rodney understood that one. “Sure man, whatever you say.”

“Hanh ooo” John replied. And they started on their journey to Kim’s apartment.

They arrived and John got out and said, "hanh ooo." Again before Rodney pulled away to disinfect the back of his car. John walked into the lobby and up to the buzzer and got no answer. Well, what do I do now? A woman and her son walked out of the lobby door. John held the door for them, at arms length. The boy said “Cool mask, my guy.” The woman looked strangely at him and ignored his risqué method of getting into the building without permission. She was wearing a teal cloth mask and the boy was wearing a small mask with a pixilated smile on it. He got into the, thankfully empty, elevator and got to her door. Shit, now what? John realized he hadn’t planned or figured anything out in the ride-share, he only continued to barter with himself. He asked himself the fundamental question one might ask when in this situation. Who am I to interfere in her plans? I have no idea how bad it is for her. What do I say or do now? He thinks. Knock on the door? What if she’s not even home?

*knock, knock, knock* he completed step one. He heard a faint rustle from the apartment. He knocked again. What am I supposed to say to her? Don’t do it? There is so much internet still left to discover? Are you sure you’ve streamed everything you need to in this life? No rustling this time. *knock, knock, knock* this time with more urgency. He lifted the mask away. “Kim, I know you’re there.” Still nothing. “I know what you’re thinking about right now. I need to talk to you.” Stillness. “If you don’t answer, I’m…I’m gonna have to kick the door in.” He was quite sure he couldn’t. “Kim!”

“What is it, John.” She said in a raspy voice from the other side of the door.

“Your message scared me. And I wanted to let you know, I’ve been there…. and..”

“Been where John? I just got out of the hospital. What are you on about?”

“I…Hospital? What do you mean?” Uh oh. I may have projected. He realizes.

“I had Covid, I was in the hospital for the last couple of weeks. I’m in the clear now, and got discharged this morning. I just got home and I’m trying to sleep. Why are you here?” She asked in a groggy voice.

“I’m sorry.” He darted back from the door and began to put his mask back on. “I read into your message, I thought you were going to hurt yourself. I’m sorry, go back to sleep. Call me when you’re up to it.” He fitted the device back onto his face.

“Okay. You’re weird John. Take care, I’m going back to bed.” He heard her rustling away from the door.

He stood in that hallway, both relieved and a little worried. Can omicron get around a door? He went back to the elevator. She caught it and lived. None of the waifs were guaranteed to die if they got it, but they were far more likely to and even if they survived, its long term effects were going to be far more impactful than they were for stronger people. He got into the elevator. He realized this was the first time he had been out of the house, outside of vaccine clinics, in almost a year. She caught it and lived. He got out of the elevator and went outside. It was bitter cold out. But on the plus side, he was wearing his winter clothes and the pedestrians of the city decided against meeting the cold today. It was only six blocks to his place. He decided to walk it. Today started out pretty scary, but this was nice. Maybe I can stream a new video, “Going for a winter walk…with a respirator.”