So, Mother wrote me what I hope is a good check, and I took it to the bank a few minutes ago. Each area where you could fill out the deposit/withdrawal paperwork had a thing of hand sanitizer. There were three or four more bottles of the stuff up at the teller counter.
My problem occurred when it took me too long to fill out the paperwork, enabling someone to go ahead of me in line. This woman kept up a lengthy conversation with the only available teller (the other tellers were helping the drive-thru bankers, and such), and I had to wait and wait and wait for her to quit gabbing.
I never blame the teller (or cashier, or whoever) in this instance. Good etiquette dictates that they should be tolerant of such customers.
So then, this woman made a lengthy speech about how sorry she was to be holding up the line, but she just had to gab, which we all understand, right? [Massive eyeroll.] Because, you know, the subject of the hour is just so fascinating. And then she slid over two feet, with the obvious implication that I could come up to the counter now, and she attacked the nearest bottle of hand sanitizer. She then turned and stared at me with more fake apologies, and she asked, “Why aren’t you coming up? Sorry.” Yeah, I didn’t budge. But thanks for putting me on the spot, lady.
Uh-huh. You know what? My reaction had nothing to do with the scary virus. I’m paranoid, and I don’t like having my energetic field polluted by silly, attention-seeking bank customers, thank you very much.
She murmured more fake apologies, all the while staring at me as if I were the freak here, and then she finally walked past me, and I dodged her (to avoid her energetic pollution); and I was able to go up to the counter.
Let’s hope the check Mommy gave me this time is a good one.
That’s not to say, though, that the coronavirus isn’t freaking me out. It is, massively. I’m not just afraid of the virus itself, but of the change to our normal society that’s occurring. One of my dad’s favorite restaurants just closed. He eats out twice a day, every day. I don’t even know which foods to stockpile for him, because he never eats at home except to snack late at night. (Uh… toast. He likes toast.) It’s just freaking me out.
I’ve gone off my diet due to stress. But I think I can maintain my weight for a while. I’ve been munching compulsively on rainbow goldfish while my white-skirted tetras look on in horror from their fish tank. (They’re crackers! They aren’t real fish! Hmmph. Try talking sense into tetras.)
Last night, I was playing the emotional background music to Felicity at the piano. I stumbled upon the right chords. (Snuffy Walden doesn’t release his sheet music.)
Oh, how delightful. My demoralized dad just told me that restaurants have been ordered to close. “But they can still offer carryout,” he said.
I sighed. “We need to get you some groceries in case the carryout has to close too.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it. Grocery stores will still be open. But they’re going to close earlier now.” He seemed agitated but was trying to hide it.
It’s hard not to be anxious under these apocalyptical circumstances. Right now, my dad’s having a freakout trying to reach his healthcare provider and get medicinal refills. He’s in such a state of panic that he dialed the wrong number and then accused me of giving him the wrong number (he asked me to look her up online). Now, though, he redialed and is speaking to someone about which drugs he needs. Oh, wait. He’s coming back… Nope. That must’ve been him walking toward his office, because the calming sounds of Rush Limbaugh are now floating up here. Assuming Rush Limbaugh is on today.
I just feel a prescient sense of doom. So do my fish. I mean, the tetras, not the crackers. They’ve been unhappy ever since I adjusted their water recently. Poor fish. They seem better today.
Several hours have passed since I wrote the previous part of this blog post. Apparently, my dad has discovered that he can eat out at his favorite restaurants in secret. Being a woman of high moral virtue and fortitude, I disapprove, and I told him so. It’s very possible that some people have this virus and are asymptomatic. Such people could be spreading it without realizing it. Furthermore, the rule was put into place for safety purposes, and my dad should respect that.
The reason they’re still open is that carryout is allowed. So everyone’s in these restaurants pretending to be picking up carryout, but instead of carrying out the carryout, they’re carrying it to the nearest table.
I can’t remember the last time I vehemently disagreed with my dad, but it probably involved my evil sister.
Apparently, the manager of this particular restaurant told my dad on the sly that he could keep eating in until they were found out. Coincidentally, this is the same restaurant that put this on their billboard last summer, in reference to yours truly:
I never told you all in detail what happened to precipitate that. But I just now emailed the manager and told him that if he’s not closed by tomorrow, I’m reporting him. I added that he should think twice before messing with me again in the future. (Don’t you love it when the chance for revenge just presents itself to you on a silver platter?)
I have no idea what just now came over me, what led me to do that.
I think I’m stressed and agitated. It’s hard to stay sane when the world’s falling apart.
Oh my gosh. Large Flatulent Marge has shown up, everyone. My angry alter ego. Oh, Lord. Okay, I need to breathe. Okay, okay, it’s fine. Oh, yeah, she has shown up, people. Hopefully my dad won’t find out about this, although I’m pretty sure he’ll understand my motives here.
I guess I should revisit the incident. I joined the neighborhood forum to warn people about Calvin, the thug who abducted me. (That makes it sound worse than it was.)
But everyone on the forum bullied me and harassed me. The whole reason I was there was to warn them about Calvin. It was the most hostile place I’ve ever been online. It was hellish. I stuck it out in the name of community safety. And then they started triggering me with the “spank” word. And I called it abuse, and they didn’t care that I found it hurtful. So I told one guy on there, in graphic detail, what my parents did to me. I like to think it made him puke.
A few days later, that banner came up, and I knew it was directed at me. You can argue all day long that it had nothing to do with me, but it was a neighborhood forum. They knew my address. They knew that the above restaurant is right around the corner from my house. They knew I’d see it. The rest is history.
Okay, I’m feeling less agitated now. That’s good. Deep breath. I know I called myself virtuous a while back, and then this happened, but I’ll readily acknowledge that I’m not virtuous in every way possible. But I can’t live with someone’s death on my conscience (regarding the coronavirus), and I think that keeping the restaurant open on the sly is unconscionable. Granted, my threatening of them was purely revenge-based, and I won’t pretend otherwise. The fact that it will make my country safer is just an added bonus. Maybe the whole disaster will wind up saving a life. (Isn’t it weird when something beautiful comes from something hideous?)
My dad’s going to kill me.
Yeah… should’ve thought of that. Oh well. That manager had it coming. After I emailed him last summer, complaining about the billboard, he NEVER got back to me. And I’ve confirmed his email address from various sources, including the restaurant’s social media page. But he’s beholden to me now. If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll be closed tomorrow except for actual carryout. My best guess is that he’ll ignore me, and I’ll follow through on my threat to report him. (Trust me, I know myself, and I’ll totally do it.) Whether it’ll lead to anything bad going down (like their restaurant getting in trouble) is unknown, because the cops have enough going on already, I’m sure.
There’s a hidden veil that no one’s supposed to see past, and right now, everyone in the world is looking past it against their will. It’s a lot to process. I haven’t realized it until now, but I need to focus on my mental health. This is all ramping up my paranoia. And I really do disapprove of my dad’s wanting to break the rules.
I guess I’m sort of shocked that my dad is friendly with the manager of that restaurant. I mean, the guy was responsible for that freakin’ sign being put up. From what my dad told me, the manager had nothing to do with it. He fed my dad some bullcrap about how, even though the sign is right out in front of the restaurant, it’s controlled and rented out by someone else. Before anyone can say, “Well, gee, Meg, maybe that’s true,” let me point out that the sign usually says restaurant-related stuff, like, “We’re having a guest bartender tonight,” or, “Stop in to watch the big game this weekend.” So I’m not buying it. The manager must’ve been friends with the guy on the forum. He must’ve been in on it. If nothing else, he should’ve apologized to me. (Hell hath no fury like me.)