Welcome back, Buzzy
Last week, I made my triumphant return to my day job in downtown Pittsburgh. You would think it would be easy to slip right back into the routine, but it wasn’t.
Since March 18, I have been working from home. I would get up at 8:30, shower and be at my desk (the dining room table) by 9. Last Monday, I had to get up at 6 for the first time in long while. Ouch, sweetie, ouch.
Not only did I have to get up early, I had to drive downtown.
I had to wear pants again.
Yeah. The whole kit and caboodle. I had to wear long pants, shoes and dress shirts. I had to shave every day – not just for Zoom meetings.
Aside from a couple of runs to the grocery store, a few walks around the neighborhood and one trip to Lowe’s Lawn and Garden Center, I didn’t leave the house for three months.
Side note: There was a harrowing trip to the hospital for a colonoscopy (near the end – literally and figuratively), but that’s a story for another time.
A funny thing happened in confinement. My spring blended together like one big long week. Working from the dining room table is all a blur from one day to the next. Every day was the same. Without the experience of leaving the house every day, I feel like we just sort of skipped to June.
Here we are. I am walking around downtown with my homemade cloth mask on. It was created from a bandana. I look like a bandit. I’m a 10-gallon hat and a six shooter away from robbing a stagecoach.
But I digress, like I do. It’s thrilling and a little bit scary seeing live humans again – out in their natural habitats.
Jean-Paul Sartre once said, “Hell is other people.” Actually, he said, “L’enfer, c’est les autres,” which is essentially the same thing.
Tuesday, on my second day back in the world, there was a crash in the Fort Pitt Tunnel and I was stuck for more than an hour.
Hell might not be other people, but it is definitely other drivers.
We couldn’t go 48 hours in the green zone without someone messing up. I was several cars back and didn’t see the actual events unfold, but I certainly felt the repercussions.
I was alone in the car, waiting and waiting.
I was feeling sorry for myself and posted a picture of the long line of cars on Facebook. Because it’s not real until it’s on social media.
My friend Eric wrote back. “I’m a few cars in front of you.”
Misery loves company (I don’t know who first said that – maybe Sartre).
I wrote back. “I HATE THIS.” In all caps, because I hated it.
Eric wrote, “My 8-year-old hates it, too.”
That was an ice bucket on the head. Suddenly, I realized things could be worse. I could be stuck in the car with an 8-year-old. It’s all about perspective.