Life in the Times of Coronavirus: Lockdown Day 9
Artist: Mr Zé
Besides the scarcity of basic goods, the perpetual grim news, and the seemingly inevitable onslaught of worries and anxieties, I will always remember this period in our history because of how our lives and perspective changed overnight. Two weeks ago a trip to the grocery store was just a hassle; today it is a calculated risk. Long, loud dinners with friends, the kind where so many of you crowd around the table that you’re constantly bumping elbows and feet, were a given highlight of nearly every weekend; now we bid each other goodnight over computer screens, unsure when we’ll embrace one another again. Handshakes and hugs are hazardous; a sneeze sparks suspicion. Depending on who you are, a single kiss might kill you. And the few times we leave our homes – only for food or medicine, for those of us in Spain – we keep our distance and hold our breath as long as we can behind our paper masks, afraid of inhaling what now feels like infected air. We rush back home over disinfected asphalt and frantically scrub whatever few provisions we managed to find lest they, too, have been contaminated.
As many of you can probably relate (or will be able to relate shortly), these changes happened with astonishing speed. The alarm over the coronavirus was not a gradual evolution, at least not in Cerdanyola, the town where I live. There was already a shortage of hand sanitizer and rubbing alcohol well before COVID-19 was the only thing we were talking about, but fear, that instinctive sense of dread that precedes panic, seeped into our bones overnight. Wednesday, March 11, was a normal day; by the time the sun came up again, a transformation had occurred in our neighborhood. The pharmacy located on my building’s ground floor implemented a system with yellow dots on the floor to make sure that the six-foot security distance was observed at all times. The pharmacists themselves wore gloves and face masks and stood behind what looked like yellow police tape to prevent customers from getting too close. Grocery stores started limiting the number of people allowed inside at any one time. As I drove home that morning, I saw nearly every local business pulling down their metal shutters and hastily posting signs announcing that they would be closed until further notice. And, of course, everyone was wearing a mask and gloves. A tightly wound bandanna is a popular substitute for masks here, and because the pharmacies have run out of gloves, folks steal them from the fruit stands and use those instead. Because any protection is better than none these days it seems.
It amazes me how the coronavirus, something which was once a distant threat but which now plagues Spain (with nearly 29,000 confirmed cases as of today, 4,700 in Catalonia) has infected us with fear. That Wednesday was like any other, but by the way those of us here were acting the next morning, it seemed the virus was wriggling on every surface or polluting every late winter breeze, threatening to slip through an open window and right into your home. The remote illness had woefully become manifest in our towns and cities and no town plaza, no medieval market was safe.
Now that we have more information available to us regarding the novel coronavirus, people seem to be taking things more in stride. Knowledge and facts have a way of providing comfort in ways that assuage our anxieties instead of adding more fuel to the fire of our uncertainties. For example, I saw an article in La Vanguardia, one of the leading newspapers in Spain, which featured helpful information regarding potential ways that the coronavirus can be transmitted. I found this immensely helpful (and comforting), and I’ve translated it for you in the hopes that it, too, will provide you with some facts. Here’s an excerpt from an article entitled “¿Me puedo contagiar de coronavirus al tocar los alimentos en el supermercado?” or “Can I get the coronavirus from touching food at the supermarket?”
[Does current research] indicate that we can become infected by breathing virus particles floating in the air on the street or in the supermarket? What about touching a package, or food in the supermarket? Can clothing transmit the virus? How can I avoid it? To answer these and other questions, La Vanguardia interviewed Xavier Abad, head of IRTA-CReSA and associate professor at the Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona.
The expert reminds us that, despite the fear stemming from our collective alarm, ‘we have to understand that the coronavirus is not everywhere, just waiting to infect us. Therefore, when contemplating our fears, the first thing we have to consider is whether contamination was really possible in the first place.’
Can I get it simply by breathing when I’m out on the street?
No. For starters, not everyone is infected, and infected people do not release the virus with each exhalation.
And at the supermarket or office?
In supermarkets or offices there is less air volume than out on the street, but these spaces usually have air circulation systems, or air conditioning that, if they do not recirculate the air, help dilute it, so it is highly unlikely that contagion occurs.
Can I get it from touching products in the supermarket?
The first question we should ask ourselves is whether the virus may have actually reached the product in question…Abad points out that it is highly unlikely that when we pick up a package of food in the supermarket, it will be contaminated with coronavirus that is capable of infecting us.
Even so, if we feel uneasy, an easy way to avoid potential infection would be to clean the containers with a cloth or wet paper towel with a diluted bleach solution. Or remove the outer container and throw it in the garbage... Then wash your hands well.
If you speak Spanish, I recommend reading the entire article for more helpful tips and anxiety-easing information. I, for one, felt much better after reading it and am trying to apply what I learned to my current experience living in the time of the coronavirus pandemic.
But, of course, despite being armed with scientific information, I felt a stab of dread when I heard the doorbell ring this morning. It’s a Sunday: who could it possibly be?
It’s Amazon, a husky voice calls out from the other side of the door. I have a package.
And then I remember: I’d ordered a few limited-edition books several weeks ago and though they were due to arrive “at some point in the future,” according to the bookseller, they had apparently arrived ahead of schedule.
Just a moment please, I answered. I weighed the dilemma in my head. I’d read the article earlier in the week which said that infection via surfaces was not likely. But still: mask, or no mask? Gloves, or no gloves? Will I collect the package directly from the driver’s hands, or is there another option?
Deciding to play it extra safe, I quickly stuffed my hand into a blue latex glove and strapped the mask onto my face. I unlocked my front door – I hadn’t unlocked it in several days – and slowly opened it, praying that the guy would not think me a fool.
The driver, a North African man who had the body of a lanky teenager, waved from a full ten feet away. He also wore a mask and gloves, and from behind his gold-rimmed glasses a pair of striking blue eyes blinked back at me.
Good morning, he said. For you.
And without coming a step closer, he gently tossed the cardboard-wrapped package at my feet. It landed a few inches from my doormat, and when I stepped forward to collect it, the driver, as if by instinct, took a corresponding step backward. For a moment, I wondered if this is how it feels to feed a caged exotic animal: quickly, cleanly, and at a distance, never sure of what it will do next.
Thank you, hermano, I said, stepping back into my flat.
The driver made a gesture that looked something like a bow. He turned and started to head down the stairs; a gloved hand bumped against the handrail, making the metal sing in the terribly sanitized building.