COVID Senior Lockdown, Day 3

Well, the telemarketers didn’t waste any time stepping it up for a captive audience. Caller ID helps, though. I love the way they spoof existing numbers from your neighborhood, but it’s a dead giveaway when they call you from you. It was really Melissa from Microsoft threatening to cut off my account. I told her she was calling me from my own number. She didn’t get the joke. She was a recording. I hate it when a good joke bombs.

OK Boomer, my ass. I read in the WSJ about the hoodleheaded kids still partying it up around the country. They were also flaunting their flouting on Twitter, and calling the virus #BoomerRemover. Miz F has a suggestion: Tell your kids, if you get sick and die from this stuff, you’re assuming it was intentional and all the money goes to the cat shelter. Period.

COVID Senior Lockdown, Day 2

Happy St. Patrick’s Day in a state with no bars. Liquor stores, however, are still open. On the way home from the shore, we stocked up on cheap gin, cheap vodka, decent whiskey, both complexions of vermouth, and a case of sale wine. Everybody else was hoarding toilet paper. We have priorities.

Last evening we hit the local supermarket. Oh my God. If you managed to miss it, what you heard is true. Way too many people, way too high strung, buying all kinds of things but fatally attracted to paper goods and cleaning supplies. Because Mrs. F is always about three steps ahead of the curve, we were well stocked on that stuff, and were just looking for meat for the dinner, olives for the martinis, and grapefruit juice for the Greyhounds. We still had to stand in line. The guy in front of us must have been an old stoner on the keto diet because he braved all that just for two small bags of pork rinds. And I think that lady over there sneezed at us.

COVID Senior Lockdown, Day 1

Today the Governor shut down all bars and restaurants effective 5:00 pm. He made this pronouncement at 11:00 am. Panic ensues. Mrs. F and I happen to be on the road in one of Maryland’s fine seaside communities. We were on our way to buy some caramel popcorn and maybe saltwater taffy for a young neighbor who cares for our outside cat when we’re away. Nice girl. We’re helping pay for her first car, $5 at a time. We sat in the car outside the store and listened to the Governor on the radio. Then we went in and bought popcorn. And taffy. And peanut brittle. And turtles. Eventually, $60 worth of panic candy. We don’t eat candy. Panic knows no logic.

A short walk from the candy store is our favorite tequila bar, just opened for the lunch crowd. We figured, why not? Who knows when we’ll get in there again? Three early diners at the bar, and us. The barmaid had just heard the news. She was kind of shocky. Ever the trouper, though, she declared all day Happy Hour because, again, why not?

By the time we left after a couple of margeritas and a shared quesadilla, the manager and other bar staff had filtered in and were planning their shutdown at a back table. Gallows humor soon set in. Good for them. When we heard the word “speakeasy” Miz F went over asked them for the secret knock and password. We’ll be there.