The way I see it, there's two options.
(1) We freak out, go into doomsday prep mode, hoard food and supplies, don face masks, and isolate ourselves in biocontainment bubbles for the rest of time.
or
(2) We take common sense precautions like washing our hands, staying off cruise ships, and trying super hard not to ingest the spittle of strangers.
The scary thing? I honestly don't know which of these is the right answer. This coronavirus has me spooked.
I'm fully aware that I have hypochondrial tendencies. If I read enough horrifying news stories, I'll eventually buy into the terror wholesale. I'm purposely limiting my scope of knowledge on the outbreak, lest I start building a bunker.
I'd like to think that humanity is smart enough to beat this thing with patience, an abundance of caution, and a whole lot of Lysol. But I also know how gross people are.
We've all seen co-workers show up at the office when they should be home in bed. We've all seen people cough and hack without covering their mouths. On the weekends, I DJ at dance clubs and routinely find myself on the receiving end of spittle showers from drunken clubgoers leaning in to request terrible music. If I die because some ill moron wants to hear "The Cha Cha Slide," then I know one moron about to be haunted by a VERY angry ghost.
People are disgusting. I should know -- I'm one of them. I've come to work sick before. I habitually chew on pens that are probably petri dishes of germs. The other night, I was leaving work and the glare from the setting sun revealed a kajillion dried droplets of my own spittle on my windshield. I'd had an allergy fit a few days prior and the resulting sneezefest unknowingly coated my car. Eww.
Let's face it, we as a species are nasty. Our bodies shed skin and ooze sweat. There are millionaires in our world whose entire fortunes were made selling goop that we smear on our underarms to stop us from smelling. We buy boxes and rolls of tissue just to dispose of our own ick. Could we be the most disgusting species of all? Nope. Those fears were alleviated today when I came home at just the right time to (a) watch a cat vomit, (b) run upstairs for paper towels, and (c) return to find the vomit magically gone and an entirely DIFFERENT cat walking away. I'm not asking questions.
As for the plague currently sweeping mankind, for now I'm opting to follow the guidelines we've all been hearing: wash your hands until your skin falls off and try super hard not to touch your face.
You know what I've learned while trying super hard not to touch my face? ALL I WANT TO DO IS TOUCH MY FACE. It might as well be the top line of my resume. Current occupation? PROFESSIONAL FACE-TOUCHER. Until this week, I had no idea how often I groped my own face until I'm suddenly told not to. My nose constantly itches. My ear constantly itches. I can't hold a pen without wanting to shove it in my mouth. I seriously just took a break after typing that sentence to go wash my hands JUST so I could rub my nose and then wash my hands AGAIN. If this is the new normal, I'm not a fan.
Thankfully, I'm not the only one. Last week, the citizens of Santa Clara County in California listened as the director of their Health Department gave an important speech about virus prevention. "Today, start working on not touching your face," she said, "because one main way viruses spread is when you touch your own mouth, nose, or eyes." Without missing a beat, she then immediately licked her finger to turn the page of her prepared remarks. Priceless.
I haven't gone full hermit yet, but I'll admit to a teeny bit of over-spending at the grocer. I went in for some weekly essentials, but the paranoid part of my brain told me I should probably stock up. You know, just in case. Maybe some emergency chili rations in case I need to cover my house in Saran Wrap and cut ties with the outside world for a few weeks. I've got some vacation time to burn. Way to think with your head, Shane.
When it comes to hoarding for a disaster, I'm kind of a disaster. I stocked up, alrighty. And now, in the event of a global pandemic, I can rest easy knowing I have a couple extra boxes of Cheez-Its, some potato salad that expires in four days, and a healthy supply of Tuna Helper (which would have been smart had I remembered to buy tuna.) I did pick up non-perishable fixins for chili, though, so yay for me. Of course, that just put me in the mood for chili and I made it within two hours of getting home. It's gone already. So much for emergency rations.
In these paranoid times, I DID find one surefire trick to avoid other shoppers: Simply have a full-blown seasonal allergy fit while standing in the medical supplies aisle. Trust me, people literally RUN away, no matter how much you reassure them. "I don't... (ACHOO!)... have the Corona.. (ACHOO!) virus. I swear (ACHOO!)" I tried to cover my mouth, but I also didn't want to germ up my hands, so I kept awkwardly sneezing into my elbow. Apologies, fellow shoppers, if you went to stock up on sundries last week and instead came face-to-toxin with a sneezing madman who appeared to be jubilantly dabbing in celebration of his own spittle. It was, in fact, just an idiot with hay fever trying to remember where his elbow was located.
If anyone needs me, I'll be at home. Please don't visit -- unless you have a clean bill of health and a clean bowl of chili. No, you can't have my Cheez-Its.
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