March 17th, 2020 was a Tuesday. I’ll never forget that week, ever. I finished my shift bartending at the Tank Theater’s bar, a chill job that paid in tips and free drinks, if you were discreet enough, which I was. Things were… tense. I rearranged the letters on the light up sign to say “Alcohol kills germs,” in an attempt to lighten the mood and also sell drinks. But things were… tense. We were all kind of just like “What do we do?” I had my small Bath and Body Works Black Cherry Merlot hand sanitizer, which I nursed all night long, but the scientist/tinkerer in me realized that stores were out of stuff and making our own supplies might be a necessary option. The smell of that sanitizer still sends me into the fetal position. Always will.

My plan was to grab a bottle of Tito’s, a bottle of rubbing alcohol, and a bottle of aloe. I’d drink the Tito’s, and use the other two to make hand sanitizer. While most of the US was fighting over toilet paper, it took a special few of us to fight over rubbing alcohol from CVS, Walgreens, and/or Rite Aid. I arrived at a CVS to what appeared to be a real lack of rubbing alcohol, and a comrade/foe of mine had gotten there a smidge faster. We didn’t exchange names because we we’re millennials (it’s just not the first thing that comes up in conversation), so we both stared bug-eyed at an unopened box of Nice! rubbing alcohol on the floor, 60% isopropyl, which was also, coincidentally, our chances of surviving this thing.

She was an Asian woman, terrified and hiding it poorly. I was a Caucasian man, bottling up my emotions into chest palpitations and stomach problems. Taking out the world’s saddest missed connection ad now seems to be in poor taste, right? When her first request of taking the entire unopened box of like 16 bottles was denied, the manager countered with an offer of being able to give out two bottles. Two bottles to split between us. She grabbed them, so you might as well call me Stanley Yelnats, cause I was left with Zero.

I took a fighter’s stance, unafraid to get a little scrappy, since we were in the first aid aisle, after all. Ring the bell, Apollo. I verbally taunted her with “May I please have one?” She floated like a bumblebee and said “No.” I felt a hint of sexual tension, although that could’ve been gas, as my stomach was uneasy. “Come on, we’re both here, and you don’t need two. It’ll be ok, I promise,” I jabbed, after spotting a drop in her metaphorical gloves for a split second. “You’re sure?” She slammed. Oof!!! I didn’t know we were allowed to hit below the belt. Well, nothing is guaranteed in life, so I said, “Yeah, that’s enough for a whole two bottles of sanitizer, once you mix it with the aloe.” Nevertheless, she relented and reluctantly handed me one. If I’m going to Hell, let it be for that. Ding! Ding! Round 1 done. We didn’t get to have a round 2 because of COVID. I think she’s ok. I hope she’s ok.

Now, one and a half years into a pandemic, the only alcohol I’m panic buying is craft beer. But what’s remained is all of the things we do to sanitize our lives. I didn’t quite clean house, but I for sure sprayed everything with Lysol. Couple of broom sweeps here and there. A quick swiffer run across the floors. That’s at home. I want to talk about the sanitization out, on public transit, at the grocery store, in public in general. Remember letting groceries sit in the garage for a day or two? I don’t because I don’t have a garage, but I do remember wiping down all the groceries with Lysol wipes. Why? Because I still do it. Do I wipe the subway seat down? No, not anymore. I still use hand sanitizer. Do I wear gloves? No, never did, in any sense of the word, if you know what I mean… and I mean sex. Hell, some people don’t even wear masks anymore, a thing which I am sure is here to stay. It’s the new pocket square. Bury me with my collection, please? That’s all I ask.

What got me thinking about this was some people watching, which, truth be told, is kind of what gets me into everything. People are nuts. I didn’t need a pandemic to see that. I’ve seen crazy scenes on the subway before, but nothin quite takes the cake like a woman using her own self-made disinfectant to sanitize a seating area fully, like she’s being paid to do it, all while her mask was below her chin. If I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again; your toxic concoction and latex rubber glove does nothing for an airborne virus, and it just doesn’t feel comfortable so I won’t wear it, OK? Sheesh. There’s other types of prophylactics… oh wait that’s not part of this rant.

Put your kid in a visor and a mask. Is that overkill? Yup. Wear your gloves and touch everything and then your cell phone. Did you negate the effort? Yup. Eat and drink on the train. Delta to mouth one? Yup. We still do all these protocols because in some way they comfort us. They get our vaccinated asses through the trip mentally. They are the brain’s vaccine, and I guess to each their own, whatever gets you through. If COVID doesn’t get me, the over redundancy of all of us trying to protect ourselves surely will. Oh, that reminds me; come see my improv troupe Brain Vaccine at the corner of Madison Ave and 41st street. We do a new form called Food Truck that I really think you’ll love. There’s an open bar, and by that I mean an exposed piece of scaffolding is being used as a bench. Currently it’s limited capacity and vaccinated only, so be there early with your phone’s Clear app ready to go. We’d really love to see you there.

Wear a mask, folks. It was relevant at the snapshot in time of 2019-2022 and it’s relevant now, whatever year this is. It’s the only thing we’re being asked, and the only thing that I’ll ever expect of anyone else ever again. I learned my lesson. People are nuts. Didn’t have to tell me twice.

So when the time comes, my obit will say something to the effect of “He died doing what he loved, baking sourdough and drinking scotch.” And the obit picture will be the top half of my made up face, a smoky cat eye or whatever the funeral home wants to try, a mullet maybe, no restrictions, and the bottom half will be a cloth mask that I got for free in the mail with “Apply for an Upstart Loan! Call today!” written on it, just as God intended.