American Fez

Hello Again

Of course, we shall all miss the instant Covid excuse: "I'm sorry I don't feel comfortable going there and doing that during a Pandemic." The vaccinated world of tomorrow will provide no medical alibi for not working at the office; offer no virologist approved justifications for shirking our responsibilities. And nobody will applaud our song and dance routines about staying home for two weeks because we might have been exposed to a sneezing neighbor. Obligations will once more need to be met without delay; onerous chores completed on the dot, boring social events attended without demur. Our precious time will not be our own again.

Heavy traffic has already appeared on the horizon with its gridlock and tailbacks only a few thousand vaccinations away from stalling progress from hither to yonder. A few months ago I was able to cross the street at whim, wherever I liked, but lately I've been forced to look both ways for speeding vehicles of all types, deciding that waiting for the 'Walk' signal is the safest option as it was in days before Coronavirus emptied the roads of impatient commuters. We are all slowly waking up to the return of normal life like some big Monday morning of the soul.

The Trip Of A Lifetime

The most disappointing experience of my life occurred aboard an expensive Glass Bottomed Boat Tour in the Florida Keys. We had drifted over the coral reefs expecting to discover Neptune's kingdom in all its bountiful glory, only to be confronted by clouds of dredged silt, wavy grey weeds, a few transparent jellyfish, lazy fat types of tuna, and some not especially red snappers. I'd witnessed more vibrant underwater worlds when paddling in an estuary or even leaning over a bridge staring into a shallow stream.

But of course most tourist traps are unrewarding - at best - if you harbor high expectations. Usually they also enjoy adding insult to injury, and on this occasion not only did I disembark from the Glass Bottom Boat feeling short-changed in terms of both money and valuable vacation time, I also lost my favorite sunglasses and deep-fried most of my exposed limbs and nose. "Such, such were the joys."

Anyway, I was recently reminded of that terrible excursion when invited to book an appointment to be injected with Coronavirus vaccine: a glass bottomed vial offering the promise of touring daily life as it used to be. See the crowded streets from the safety of USS Astra-Zeneca's observation deck: the bright colors of the restaurants and bars, the busy hum of downtown office buildings and rattling subway trains, the sports stadiums, concert halls, gleaming department stores, fascinating museums and public galleries.

Ah yes, the anticipation of rediscovering the city in all its bountiful glory, only to be confronted by the billowing exhaust fumes of gridlocked traffic, angry commuters pushing and shoving each other, fast food containers littering the sidewalk, long lines of impatient people trying to enter over-subscribed events, and no vacant benches in the park. Can refunds be expected when the promise is not kept and the old ennui returns to the new normal?