This IGAF (Is Goodness a Fashion) series explores, from a non-expert point of view the social, economic and narrative ramifications I see developing from the COVID-19 crisis, worries, but also hopes for a future that the current shock to the system may result in.
Somehow, the shop I work at has escaped all the shutdowns so far- apparently, printing remains essential, as does the picking up of packages (or the purchase of ethically questionable medical masks ).
I did go to work on Sunday- yesterday, by now. I needed a few hours of normality for myself and this is where I find some of it- work therapy. Immersing myself in other people's problems for a while, dealing with easily solvable and routine tasks and generally pleasant people- assuming the role of the genial shopkeep. It's not a bad place to be in a crisis. It's 20 minutes away on foot.
At the tobacconist under my house, they set up beer boxes to mark safe distances. The old man, Uncle, I call him, whom I like, but can't have a sustained conversation with, was still working his usual morning shift. The next day, I was glad not to see him. This is the schizophrenia of this crisis- you are glad that people you like are far away, supposedly safe from the risk you might pose, while desperate to see them and give them a hug.
I started the day by putting up visual cues of distance, making sure the recommended distance of 1.5 metres was clearly marked wherever I knew people would que, or interact with me. I disinfected the counter- throughout the day, several times- the keyboards and printers, making sure they were not only clean, but as free of bacteria (or viruses) as I could make them. Even though it was a cold day, I opened most windows to ensure a constant circulation of air, hung up a sign that made it clear that no more than 5 people could be in the shop at one time. I tried to make it as safe a space as possible with the means at hand. I washed my hands every hour or so.
It's strange to watch something you drew a month ago slowly become a reality- many of the customers entered wearing face masks- for that day, I did not feel I needed one. I might break out my Serbian gas mask yet, though, if things continue- the scene from the comic might still become a reality. A sad one.
As the day progressed, I realised the effect my little bit of pseudo-normality had on the people who visited the shop- they took it as an opportunity to unload, and I took it as field research into how they were dealing with this very strange situation. Most people miss something right now- Tango classes, meeting their friends in the pub, cinema, theatre. A couple of times, I had to remind people to keep their distance, but most seemed to understand. I do try to treat everyone who comes in through my door like family- this was one of the rare days when I had to be slightly authoritarian, reminding people to keep their distance and assigning them copiers on the far end of the room to keep them apart. Nonetheless, I have seldom had so many grateful customers. If it were up to me, we would take all necessary precautions and stay open, no matter the losses, as a community service. In the coming times, it will be important to have these little spots that remind you what life was like- at this point, two weeks ago. Time has become very fluid.
In a Späti, a late-night shop, the counter has cellophane to shield the shopkeeper from spittle and body fluids. Everyone wears gloves in the retail that remains open. Supermarkets have erected elaborate, inelegant plastic shields and your shopping is given to you on a hastily arranged stack of boxes. Anything to keep a distance, to avoid touching another human being. It's surreal. At one supermarket entrance, a man in a wheelchair was trying to enter. A young man came in behind him and, completely disoriented by the situation, did not know whether to help him open the turnstile, or keep his distance, and fidgeted gormlessly. The disabled man tried to make space, but due to the others' confusion, only managed to lodge the wheelchair in a corner. The situation was resolved by a more practical, older man who opened the turnstile, sleeve over his hand.
My day was informed by an ongoing background lecture on the value of disinfection, the failures of the pharmaceutical industry and the effect survival trainings have on young people. The whole day was accompanied by a survival trainer and vendor of natural remedies, who set up shop in the place, to work on his advertising. It had the beneficial side-effect that he would disinfect the printers whenever a new customer used them, and the unexpected side-effect of the guy trying to sell them his wares and services. I did not throw him out- he was more aware of the current situation than most, performatively so, and did more good than harm, in spite of his constant background drone. He calls himself the Kingfisher. There's a part of me that believes his claims, though I did resist his insistent offer to collaborate on a book of poetry.
At the end of the day, I was exhausted emotionally- even though it had been a relatively light day, I had been taking in a lot of emotional baggage, in addition to following the news and some online conversations. Unusually, I smoked my evening cigarette in main room of the shop, the little bit of normality that had contained me all day. I then wished it a good night and went home, keeping my distances. By that time, the city had announced what I call its "Couples Only" policy, forbidden assemblies of more than two persons in a space.
By today, I know that I will not be able to do this again next Sunday. There is a Greek term called Harmolypi, which was explained to me as a happy sadness. It describes how I feel about this situation very well.
Part V of the current IGAF: Money, Politics and People- Distributing Profit a bit more fairly
Part IV of the current IGAF: Dystopia
Part III of the current IGAF: Keeping a shop open
Part II of the current IGAF: How are we going to pay for THAT?
Part I of the current IGAF: Keeping in Touch
Somehow, the shop I work at has escaped all the shutdowns so far- apparently, printing remains essential, as does the picking up of packages (or the purchase of ethically questionable medical masks ).
I did go to work on Sunday- yesterday, by now. I needed a few hours of normality for myself and this is where I find some of it- work therapy. Immersing myself in other people's problems for a while, dealing with easily solvable and routine tasks and generally pleasant people- assuming the role of the genial shopkeep. It's not a bad place to be in a crisis. It's 20 minutes away on foot.
At the tobacconist under my house, they set up beer boxes to mark safe distances. The old man, Uncle, I call him, whom I like, but can't have a sustained conversation with, was still working his usual morning shift. The next day, I was glad not to see him. This is the schizophrenia of this crisis- you are glad that people you like are far away, supposedly safe from the risk you might pose, while desperate to see them and give them a hug.
I started the day by putting up visual cues of distance, making sure the recommended distance of 1.5 metres was clearly marked wherever I knew people would que, or interact with me. I disinfected the counter- throughout the day, several times- the keyboards and printers, making sure they were not only clean, but as free of bacteria (or viruses) as I could make them. Even though it was a cold day, I opened most windows to ensure a constant circulation of air, hung up a sign that made it clear that no more than 5 people could be in the shop at one time. I tried to make it as safe a space as possible with the means at hand. I washed my hands every hour or so.
It's strange to watch something you drew a month ago slowly become a reality- many of the customers entered wearing face masks- for that day, I did not feel I needed one. I might break out my Serbian gas mask yet, though, if things continue- the scene from the comic might still become a reality. A sad one.
As the day progressed, I realised the effect my little bit of pseudo-normality had on the people who visited the shop- they took it as an opportunity to unload, and I took it as field research into how they were dealing with this very strange situation. Most people miss something right now- Tango classes, meeting their friends in the pub, cinema, theatre. A couple of times, I had to remind people to keep their distance, but most seemed to understand. I do try to treat everyone who comes in through my door like family- this was one of the rare days when I had to be slightly authoritarian, reminding people to keep their distance and assigning them copiers on the far end of the room to keep them apart. Nonetheless, I have seldom had so many grateful customers. If it were up to me, we would take all necessary precautions and stay open, no matter the losses, as a community service. In the coming times, it will be important to have these little spots that remind you what life was like- at this point, two weeks ago. Time has become very fluid.
In a Späti, a late-night shop, the counter has cellophane to shield the shopkeeper from spittle and body fluids. Everyone wears gloves in the retail that remains open. Supermarkets have erected elaborate, inelegant plastic shields and your shopping is given to you on a hastily arranged stack of boxes. Anything to keep a distance, to avoid touching another human being. It's surreal. At one supermarket entrance, a man in a wheelchair was trying to enter. A young man came in behind him and, completely disoriented by the situation, did not know whether to help him open the turnstile, or keep his distance, and fidgeted gormlessly. The disabled man tried to make space, but due to the others' confusion, only managed to lodge the wheelchair in a corner. The situation was resolved by a more practical, older man who opened the turnstile, sleeve over his hand.
My day was informed by an ongoing background lecture on the value of disinfection, the failures of the pharmaceutical industry and the effect survival trainings have on young people. The whole day was accompanied by a survival trainer and vendor of natural remedies, who set up shop in the place, to work on his advertising. It had the beneficial side-effect that he would disinfect the printers whenever a new customer used them, and the unexpected side-effect of the guy trying to sell them his wares and services. I did not throw him out- he was more aware of the current situation than most, performatively so, and did more good than harm, in spite of his constant background drone. He calls himself the Kingfisher. There's a part of me that believes his claims, though I did resist his insistent offer to collaborate on a book of poetry.
At the end of the day, I was exhausted emotionally- even though it had been a relatively light day, I had been taking in a lot of emotional baggage, in addition to following the news and some online conversations. Unusually, I smoked my evening cigarette in main room of the shop, the little bit of normality that had contained me all day. I then wished it a good night and went home, keeping my distances. By that time, the city had announced what I call its "Couples Only" policy, forbidden assemblies of more than two persons in a space.
By today, I know that I will not be able to do this again next Sunday. There is a Greek term called Harmolypi, which was explained to me as a happy sadness. It describes how I feel about this situation very well.
Part V of the current IGAF: Money, Politics and People- Distributing Profit a bit more fairly
Part IV of the current IGAF: Dystopia
Part III of the current IGAF: Keeping a shop open
Part II of the current IGAF: How are we going to pay for THAT?
Part I of the current IGAF: Keeping in Touch
Comments