COVID-19 daily interactions: an updated guide
As a lifestyle change, COVID-19 brought a whole new set of everyday interactions that, in all honesty, still seem a little weird. Not to mention the daily things that hold no meaning anymore, like handshakes or seeing people. I experience many of these dichotomies because, as a key worker, I am not self-isolating, that's why I am able to tell you the story of COVID-19 from a different perspective.
If you told me, three months ago, that I would buy 1-litre glass bottles of hand sanitiser as a fancy present instead of a bottle of wine, I would have appreciated the alcoholic irony but still laughed at you.
What's not funny, is the constant reminder that things have changed, but our habits have not. You see, I am still buying ironically useful presents for my friends, whom I cannot meet in person unless we accidentally bump into each other while jogging through an unassuming park casually halfway between our suburbs at exactly 2 pm on Saturday.
Another constant reminder that interactions should change is the everlasting need to ask: 'Plans for the weekend?' Or 'How was your weekend?'
What do you think, Karen? I stayed at home because there's nothing we can do, and there is nothing we should be doing. I turned into a blanket burrito and watched serial killer documentaries on Netflix. And please don't tell me about your zoom happy hour because nobody cares.
Something new people seem to be doing is forcing their pet dogs to go for aimless walks to the closest supermarket simply to judge the line, shake their head, and leave with an attitude and zero grocery.
Among other daily COVID-19 interactions, I need to raise the issue of the temperature gun etiquette. Every morning, I stand in a well-spaced line to enter my workplace and am greeted by a towering security guard and a fellow key worker holding a "gun" to my head.
The gun is a thermometer.
Still, from my shielded life experience, it looks, and feels, rather jarring. And my naive mind immediately goes to: what do I do when the "gun" gets closer?
Again, thermometer. Definitely not a gun to my head. Mum, don't call the consulate.
Do I stand one arm-length away? I do that. Then I lean in to make it easier for the gun person to read my temperature. Do I look at the gun?
Don't be silly, it's like looking at a mascara wand. I can't look at the gun.
Do I look at the person? Straight in the eyes with a defying stare.
You can kill me but can't kill the revolution!
Definitely not looking at the person. And I can't look to the side either, because my face needs to face the gun.
Not a gun.
At this point, I am standing about 50cm away, leaning in slightly, facing forward but looking slightly to the side, smiling and trying to look healthy and chatty despite it being still dark outside and having literally two seconds to be asked: how are you feeling and were you abroad?
No, good. I mean yeah good no, and you? I mean thank you.
Another Typical COVID-19 interaction is offering hand sanitiser as a courtesy. This has happened to me a couple of times already, especially on public transport.
I saw a youngling about to take a bite off a sandwich while on a tram. Clearly, I offered some hand sanitiser because not only nobody should eat on a tram, but they should definitely not eat on a tram.
The other day a girl was sitting on the bus next to an open window. It is winter time in Australia and I am a huge fan of not freezing on my way home, so I asked her if she wouldn't mind closing the window above her head.
Kindly, she did so, using her bare hands. Not the jacket sleeve, not a tissue, not her elbow or whatever body part her gymnastic skills allowed her to.
I was not expecting that, so I promptly thanked her and offered some hand sanitiser since she went through all that COVID-19 trouble for me. She smiled and shrugged saying it was ok.
Then it clicked.
She touched the bus with hands.
She was still smiling and waving me away when her hand darted forward and the shrug turned into a nod.
Don't worry, I got your covered fam.
Image: via
If you told me, three months ago, that I would buy 1-litre glass bottles of hand sanitiser as a fancy present instead of a bottle of wine, I would have appreciated the alcoholic irony but still laughed at you.
What's not funny, is the constant reminder that things have changed, but our habits have not. You see, I am still buying ironically useful presents for my friends, whom I cannot meet in person unless we accidentally bump into each other while jogging through an unassuming park casually halfway between our suburbs at exactly 2 pm on Saturday.
Another constant reminder that interactions should change is the everlasting need to ask: 'Plans for the weekend?' Or 'How was your weekend?'
What do you think, Karen? I stayed at home because there's nothing we can do, and there is nothing we should be doing. I turned into a blanket burrito and watched serial killer documentaries on Netflix. And please don't tell me about your zoom happy hour because nobody cares.
Something new people seem to be doing is forcing their pet dogs to go for aimless walks to the closest supermarket simply to judge the line, shake their head, and leave with an attitude and zero grocery.
Among other daily COVID-19 interactions, I need to raise the issue of the temperature gun etiquette. Every morning, I stand in a well-spaced line to enter my workplace and am greeted by a towering security guard and a fellow key worker holding a "gun" to my head.
The gun is a thermometer.
Still, from my shielded life experience, it looks, and feels, rather jarring. And my naive mind immediately goes to: what do I do when the "gun" gets closer?
Again, thermometer. Definitely not a gun to my head. Mum, don't call the consulate.
Do I stand one arm-length away? I do that. Then I lean in to make it easier for the gun person to read my temperature. Do I look at the gun?
Don't be silly, it's like looking at a mascara wand. I can't look at the gun.
Do I look at the person? Straight in the eyes with a defying stare.
You can kill me but can't kill the revolution!
Definitely not looking at the person. And I can't look to the side either, because my face needs to face the gun.
Not a gun.
At this point, I am standing about 50cm away, leaning in slightly, facing forward but looking slightly to the side, smiling and trying to look healthy and chatty despite it being still dark outside and having literally two seconds to be asked: how are you feeling and were you abroad?
No, good. I mean yeah good no, and you? I mean thank you.
Another Typical COVID-19 interaction is offering hand sanitiser as a courtesy. This has happened to me a couple of times already, especially on public transport.
I saw a youngling about to take a bite off a sandwich while on a tram. Clearly, I offered some hand sanitiser because not only nobody should eat on a tram, but they should definitely not eat on a tram.
The other day a girl was sitting on the bus next to an open window. It is winter time in Australia and I am a huge fan of not freezing on my way home, so I asked her if she wouldn't mind closing the window above her head.
Kindly, she did so, using her bare hands. Not the jacket sleeve, not a tissue, not her elbow or whatever body part her gymnastic skills allowed her to.
I was not expecting that, so I promptly thanked her and offered some hand sanitiser since she went through all that COVID-19 trouble for me. She smiled and shrugged saying it was ok.
Then it clicked.
She touched the bus with hands.
She was still smiling and waving me away when her hand darted forward and the shrug turned into a nod.
Don't worry, I got your covered fam.
Image: via
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