The story thus far: While counting down the hours (48) until her boyfriend Joe was finally out of quarantine, Julie found herself in contact with someone who had been exposed to the virus....
Julie shoved the few remaining boxes of food donations onto shelves by herself, muttering angrily. Meanwhile, Miss Irene and Vanessa charmed, bribed or bullied enough of the right people to get her in for a virus test that day. Julie wondered if the nurse administering the test had been one of the bullied, or if the swab was actually supposed to touch the back of her skull.
Jimmy – or, “Germy Jimmy” as Miss Irene had taken to calling him – tested positive for the virus, but Julie did not. Given her interaction with people who were at risk if exposed, she agreed that it would be best for her to quarantine anyway.
Once she got over the shock of being replaced in Miss Irene's organization, (she knew she wasn't indispensable, but the speed with which her duties had been reassigned was troubling) Julie realized there was an up-side to quarantine. Of course she was disappointed to – once again – be separated from her daughter and Joe, but she thought perhaps it was all for the best. Lately she had been feeling downright bitchy, and while she was confident of Joe's affection, she thought it best not to push her luck.
The fewer people Julie came in contact with, the more they got on her nerves. Familiarity may not have bred contempt, but it had certainly bred discontent. When Big George said he was returning to the shop to work two afternoons each week, Miss Irene had suggested four.
Alone in her apartment, Julie shuffled the boxes of photos she planned to organize “when she had the time.” She idly scrolled through the emails from Muffy (subject line: “Beauty-Fixes After 50: It's Never Too Late To Start”), moving them to a folder marked “delete later.” Then she grabbed a bottle of wine (which Vanessa had left outside her door), a pan of scotcheroos (from Emily), and the “Pride and Prejudice” box set (the good BBC version with Colin Firth) on loan from Steve and plopped down on the couch to sulk.
Mellowed by the alcohol, sugar, and posh British accents, Julie became contemplative. She was tired of the drama, fear-mongering and politicization surrounding the pandemic. As Miss Irene's errand girl, Julie came into (socially distant) contact with many people – with many viewpoints. She listened politely to each of them, smiling and nodding her head whether she wanted to or not.
Julie wore her mask and kept her distance. She washed her hands and regularly applied hand sanitizer. She held her breath and inched backwards when approached by no-maskers or maskers who apparently thought they were guaranteed immunity. She understood the math of exponential spread and knew that “best” protection wasn't “complete” protection.
She noticed that when she set her mind to look for people who were wearing masks, it seemed like most of them did. When she actively looked for people who weren't wearing masks, it seemed like most of them did not. Quite frankly she was too busy obsessing over her own coughs, sniffles and headaches to worry much about what other people wore or did. She was more concerned about unknowingly infecting others than she was about contracting the virus herself.
She didn't think the virus cared what your political affiliation was. She knew people who (swore they) always wore a mask who still caught the virus, and people who (wouldn't admit they) never wore a mask who didn't catch it. She knew people who became extremely ill, and others who did not.
The virus, it seemed, was immune to human concerns.
Julie spent the next day feeling guilty for not feeling guilty about missing work – or at least not working as much. Miss Irene had left a plate of snickerdoodles (Julie's favorite) outside her door that morning . . . along with a list of donors and a box of blank Thank You cards for her to write.
During the afternoon coffee break with Miss Irene and Big George (Skype-ing from across the back yard), Julie learned that her regular duties were once again being reassigned. J.J. had to be pulled off deliveries after mixing up orders for Mrs. Harry Johnson and Mrs. Henry Johnson (sisters who had married brothers, doubling the sibling rivalry). J.J. would take over grocery duties from Miss Irene who had been banned from the store for her involvement in a ruckus that morning.
“Pffft,” Miss Irene pffted. “Most of those people can't figure out which lanes to drive up in the parking lot. How could anyone expect them to follow one-way aisles inside the store? Although, upon reflection, I may have over reacted.” (*Coming soon: Part 10.25 “Cleanup on Aisle 9.”)
“If it's any consolation, I think you've managed things very well . . . until now,” Julie said. “I think people are getting stupider . . . .”
“More stupid, dear,” Miss Irene corrected.
Julie silently counted to 10 very quickly. “More stupid every day. I can't tell you how many times I've wanted to punch someone in the throat. I'm pretty sure the feeling's mutual. What's your secret?”
“Equal parts prayer, patience, and Templeton Rye whiskey.”
Big George sniffed Miss Irene's coffee mug. “Some parts more equal than others,” he said.
“All right, Mr. Smart Guy,” Miss Irene laughed. “What's your advice for dealing with this craziness?”
Big George thought for a moment before speaking.
“People are scared. They're scared for their health. Scared for their jobs. Scared for their families and scared for their country. And each of them is right.” He let this sink in. “But each of them is wrong, too. When you hold too tightly to your own fear, you become blind to the fears of others.
“Recognizing someone else's fear requires you to admit that you may be wrong. It's threatening. And whenever a frightened creature feels threatened, they lash out.
“You can't change people's opinions or actions by force . . . or even through reason, usually.” He glanced sideways at Miss Irene and grinned. “Believe me, I've tried.”
Miss Irene kissed him on the cheek. “But you can be a good influence,” she said.
“That's what I'm counting on, dear. Now if you'll excuse me ladies, I need to get back to work. Remember Julie, the only person you can change is yourself. Be patient. Be kind. Show the way. Be the light.”
Julie leaned back in her chair to look out her window. She watched as Big George crossed the backyard, waving up at her window as he passed the garage. She waved back.
“All that wisdom and a great butt, too,” Miss Irene said, drawing Julie's attention back to her computer screen. “Don't let that Mr. Miyagi act fool you, though. J.J. told me Mr. Holmer stopped by the shop this morning and got on a rant, as he always does. George listened to him for a while, then excused himself to change the batteries in his hearing aids and never came back.”
“But Big George doesn't wear hearing aids,” Julie said.
“Exactly.” Miss Irene arched an eyebrow. “We're all doing the best we can, dear. Some days we're Mother Theresa, some days our hearing aids quit working.”
Miss Irene's phone chimed. She grumbled as she read the text. “Well, dear, it seems I need to go shine my light up Muffy's . . . viewpoint. It's a good thing I know where to find you. You may have to arrange bail for me.”
To be continued ...
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