Pt 19 The day time stood still
☣️ A gas-masked-man appeared, a vision straight out of a sci-fi thriller. Dressed in a thin white hazmat onesie tucked into black rubber boots, with hood and gloves to match he was ready to douse us.
When we pulled into Cherry Hill Manufactured Home Community, (a name that takes longer to say than it took to get there), we had no idea we’d stay long enough to witness bare trees transform into fully leafed-out beauties. Honestly, we had bigger concerns at the time, like the kitchen pipe drama that had me squawking louder than a seagull eyeing dropped french fries. Little did I know, that pipe and our rear-end adventures would pale in comparison to what lay ahead: the surreal stillness of two years in COVID-induced limbo. I am not going to go into the specifics here, because there is not a person on this planet who was not present for this time etched in stone forever. No, I have a different take on the entire thing than most. And, I’ll share that instead unapologetically.
Need to catch up?
While we were not going to be at this RV park that long, I did have a list of places I wanted to see however with everything locked up tighter than a bank vault, plans quickly shift. All I could do was watch winter-bare turn into luscious green. The only establishments opened were those of supposed necessities like Walmart, Target, pharmacies and grocery stores.
It was fascinating, though, how each retailer interpreted the "essentials" rulebook. Target kept the whole store open, because throw pillows are obviously critical to survival, after all, how is a social media influencer supposed to survive? Walmart locked down everything except food and personal care. And Home Depot? Apparently, a global pandemic is the perfect time for home renovation projects. The lineups for gardening supplies stretched around the block, because nothing says "essential" like tomato cages and paint swatches. Somehow Covid didn’t frequent these places.
The potential for looting and robing seems to have taken a back seat, which had me often wondering how this was the case, especially when banks started to open up once again. I mean, think about it, everyone masked up how easy would it have been to walk out of a bank with a sack of cash, blending right into the hoodie or baseball-cap-mask-and-sunglasses crowd? They wouldn’t even need a getaway car that speeds off. No, just casually get in to the waiting Prius and meander off without even having to take their masks off. No one would have been the wiser.
It’s baffling when you think about it. The streets were eerily empty, like the opening scenes of every apocalyptic movie ever made. You’d think looting would’ve been at an all-time high. The perfect storm, masked-up, anonymous, and no witnesses in sight. But no! Shops remained largely untouched. Why?
I believe everyone was too busy on a sugar-booze bender. With grocery aisles stripped bare of anything remotely nutritious and liquor stores deemed essential, society collectively decided that if we were going down, it would be in a blaze of frosting and screw-top alcohol. The sheer volume of chocolate chip cookies and boxed merlot being consumed must have rendered people too sluggish and bloated to bother smashing a store window.
Maybe that’s why Walmart scaled back to selling just the essentials. Perhaps they sensed the risk of some guy, belly full of boxed mac and cheese and vodka shots, waddling toward their entrance with dreams of making off with a flat-screen TV. But as he approached the automatic doors, his phone buzzed. distracted by the siren call of a delivery pizza en route. Crisis averted.
Or maybe someone did try their luck. All Walmart had to do was lob a rotisserie chicken, some chocolate bars and a 6-pack of those small bottles of wine out the sliding door and lock it behind him. Genius. Let’s be honest, nothing diffuses a potential Covid-looter quite like the aroma of slow-roasted poultry while washing it down with a cheap libation.
Yes, it was probably the only time in history that shoplifting stats plummeted. Not because of heightened security or morality, No, I do not think so. I believe it had more to do with everyone in a sugar coma. Who knew cake and cocktails could be the heroes we never asked for.
Back to the grocery stores. The baking aisle? Much like the toiletry isle, wiped cleaner than a toddler’s face after spaghetti night. Comfort food was clearly the go-to, as pre-packaged and canned goods vanished. Meanwhile, the produce section looked like a vegetable museum exhibit, slowly rotting away while society ignored the immune-boosting gifts Mother Nature had laid out. Even the healthier-focused stores weren’t spared this irony. I mean, if you can’t find flour but there’s a mountain of lettuce, what does that say about us?
Oh, and the arrows on the floor? A comedic masterpiece. Walking through those aisles felt like participating in a giant, absurd game of Candy Land, complete with dead ends and freaked out shoppers frozen in place at the mere thought of doubling back.
The masks didn’t help either. Try laughing at the absurdity without soaking your face mask in saliva, effectively creating your own waterboarding experience. And Lord help you if you had to sneeze. The sheer panic of suppressing biological warfare, knowing it would send everyone within a six-foot radius into full-blown defensive mode, was unmatched. Sneezes had somehow become the new gunshots—a single “achoo” could clear an aisle in a nanosecond.
Oddly enough, I’m pretty sure this was the only time in the history of civilization when farting was universally accepted. Normally, a rogue bit of flatulence would be met with sideways glares and the unmistakable shuffle of people edging away. But during face covering days? A fart, and all its rogue escaped gases, couldn’t penetrate the sturdy 3-layers of a homemade face covering made from Grandma’s old tea towels and sheer determination. If anything, it was safer for everyone involved. So, I took full advantage and farted as much as could.
And then there was the relentless disinfecting. To this day, I’m still haunted by the chemical smell and find myself scraping disinfectant residue off my shoes. How is it that it took a pandemic to bring a wave of cleanliness to retail spaces? And why did it vanish as quickly as the chipper greeter at the entrance, whose real job, was to ensure you had your mask on?
Let’s not forget the toilet paper saga, a modern-day gold rush! This time I was on the hunt for nose-tissues for my spring allergy-stricken rolling homestead. After scouring fifteen stores, which, felt more like a hundred, I finally stumbled upon a stash. I stood frozen, unsure if my eyes were playing tricks on me. I even poked the boxes, just to confirm they were, in fact, real tissues and not some cruel mirage.
Then, I found myself in a full-on internal debate, complete with Good Karen and Bad Karen duking it out on my shoulders like a kombucha-drinking Granola and a Red devil complete with pitchfork waving her American flag proudly from her pitchfork. Good Karen, whispered, “Think of the next poor soul. Someone else out there who is on their fifteenth store, just like you. Leave some behind and restore a little humanity in these dark times.”
But Bad Karen was having none of it. “Girl, please, Humanity? This is America—the land of the free, baby! Free to take what you want. What’s in it for you? Grab all six boxes and don’t look back!” She was practically waving her flag while chanting “U-S-A!”
In the end, Good Karen barely squeaked out a win. I left with three boxes, feeling a tiny spark of virtue. I imagined the next weary soul stumbling upon the leftovers and thinking, Maybe there’s still some good in the world.
Of course, the moment I walked out the door, I glanced back at the stash and thought, What if someone else just grabs the rest? Maybe I should’ve taken all six... The moral high ground, it seems, is a slippery slope.
What I found even more terrifying than a triple-masked person in plastic gloves, was leaving my precious stash of toilet paper and tissues in my car. Every time I parked, I had this irrational fear that someone would smash my windows and make off with my rare paper treasure. My fears were quickly abated, knowing most people were comfortably numb, far too busy clutching their cupcakes and martini’s to pose any real threat
And then there was the RV life twist. COVID gave us a front-row seat to America’s regional quirks. California’s lockdown was stricter than a Catholic nun, while Arizona tiptoed into semi-normalcy, cautiously ready to mask back up at any moment. And Florida? Like stepping into a pre-pandemic time machine, where masks and social distancing were optional throwbacks. It made it difficult to remember our masks for the rest of the world. And if you were only in one state, you had no idea what the rest of the country was doing. So, if you were in Florida, life was normal expect for the long lines of people waiting to get their experimental jab. If you flew to any other state, it was masks and limitations and long lines of nose swab testing and the occasional spit test. I did the spit. Not sure what happened to my spit but it’s out there somewhere.
Back in Oklahoma, our amazing tech, Joe, had fixed and installed everything he possibly could on our coach, except for the seal on our slide. He recommended an RV place not far from where we were staying and insisted we only work with one particular tech. Well, thanks to the chaos of lockdowns and the general fear of breathing near other humans, that tech was unavailable.
We brought our coach in anyway, and a polite, double-masked associate came out to handle the intake. So far, so good. But just as he was leaving, another gas-masked-man appeared, a vision straight out of a sci-fi thriller. Dressed in a thin white hazmat onesie tucked into black rubber boots, with hood and gloves to match, he was armed with what looked like a five-gallon pesticide container and wand.
Now, if you know me, you know I’m going to ask some questions., well, who are we kidding, I am going to ask a lot of questions. Turns out, the biohazard masked man wanted to disinfect our coach before working on it. I get it. I wasn’t happy about it, but I get it. As a holistic practitioner, I’ve spent years researching the underlying causes of illness in my clients. What makes one person sick often impacts others, too.
And that disinfectant? It was a bottle of bio-hazard, fully deserving of the hazmat suit. Ironically, the poor hazmat guy spraying it probably wouldn’t have bothered with all that protection on a normal day and honestly, he should.
The moment I saw the label, I went into overdrive, scrambling around the coach like a mad artist, throwing blankets and sheets over everything in sight. Meanwhile, my husband, visibly irritated and juggling two confused, outraged cats, was absolutely no help. His impatient quips to “just hurry up” paired with their indignant yowls (the cats, not him) only added to the chaos. Let’s just say, if looks could kill, he wouldn’t have made it out of that coach alive.
In the end, my neurosis paid off. The disinfectant was so thick it took months, yes, months, to dissolve the sticky residue off the floors, walls, ceilings, windows, and mirrors. Thank goodness I covered everything else. That was the first and last time that happened and will never happen again.
So yes, COVID is part of our story. As much as I’d like to sidestep it, it’s woven into this adventure, right up there with absurd mismatched pandemic rules, grocery store antics, and toilet-paper conundrums. Stay tuned, because when we left Oklahoma, things got even more...cinematic. Stay tuned
Question for you,
what unconventional thoughts did you have during the pandemic? Things you thought about that made you double think but were never discussed?
If you have not subscribed yet, why not? If you are subscribed, you will be alerted as soon as the next story drops and it will come effortlessly into your inbox or an alert on the app every Wednesday morning. So, hit that blue button right there and subscribe now. Thank you!
Once you do that and are feeling all kinds of fuzzy feels, how about tipping the Tipsmobile
If my adventures and stories are bringing a smile to your face, why not throw a little fuel in my tank to keep the wheels turning —literally! Even creativity needs a top-up now and then! Your support keeps me inspired, and rolling down the road. Thanks for being part of the journey!
Need to catch up?
Pt 16 2 amateurs at the helm and a GPS with an attitude; admit it or pay the consequences
Pt 14 The worlds largest little skyscraper awaits..this is Wichita Falls
Thank you for tuning in and reading this. I super appreciate you.
~Karen
P.s I didn’t have any photos or videos to go with this week’s post so I did my best to use AI to help create my warped sense of humour. Not even close but it will do.
Thank you @Colin Durrant for the restack I so appreciate you.
I laughed so damn hard reading this article. Yeah Florida was a good state to be in during the planned – demic!!! I worked as an RN for the VA at the time and I have all vaccine exemptions and no mask on a US government exemption document 🎉
Oh yeah, something I remember. Vividly was the lines on the grocery store floor floors. You know what I did? I would walk out of them the opposite way and people would stare at me and I'm like what the hell is wrong with everybody and by the way, here's my document for no vaccines and no mask 😂😂😂