My Corona Diary (Take VI): I Just Flew In With This Virus (And Boy, Are My Arms Tired)

<"Turn That Frown (Upside Down)":
Take I: The Reckoner>

<i.>

You've all seen the adverts, I'm sure. Or most of us, anyhow. Look! There's Eva Longoria, swanning around with the hair color she's been hired to convince you to buy.  Isn't quarantining a blast? There they are again! A young woman tightly hugging her child, as they spin like a top around the kitchen in slow kitchen. It's Nestle's latest creation, I think.

Shock and awe! As young and old alike giddily chase each other across the screen, doing silly dances, kitting out their masks with silly artwork of some sort, or snuggling each other tightly on the couch. My, my, just look at them...settling in by the TV, for their umpteenth evening of enforced fun, that's no different than the umpteenth one last week. And the umpteenth one last month. And the umpteenth one before then. All this happens in the name of GEICO ("One good share deserves another"). 

But honestly, even the non-COVID-related adverts are f#cking annoying as well, like "Nothing Is Everything," which is flogging Skyrizi's psoriasis drug. I actually don't mind the backing track, which I'd describe as a catchy slice of techno-reggae that i started back in the '80s. But the novelty of hearing that bouncy three-word chorus, "Nothing is every-thiiinnnggg," has worn off long ago. 

I swear...if I hear it one more time, I'm going to go f#cking insane. The whole business feels oddly surreal. We may die, but we can rest easy, knowing we've got clear skin. What a country.

What else? Well, there's Facebook Messenger flogging themselves with a laidback acoustic remake of "All Together Now" (The Beatles), as the participants cheerfully roll basketballs, run through their exercise routines, or (naturally) huddle over the electronic campfire. They're all cheerful as chipmunks. Not a frown in sight.

My apartment complex got in on the act, too. When the pandemic first hit, they asked us for creative recipes, goofy photos of loved ones and pets, and organizational hacks, among other things. That request came right after the long, foreboding list of changes that they'd rolled out to their daily procedures.

My response comes comes down to four words...

"Are you 

kidding me?"

<"Turn That Frown (Upside Down)":
Take II: The Reckoner>

<ii.>

All of the above images may feel A) giddily nostalgic, or B) glibly reassuring, or C) serving as some vague point of inspiration. Take your pick. What line sounds more appealing? A) Hey, look at what we did, without thinking about it. We lined up right behind each other, without fear. B) Whatever happens, we'll get through somehow. We did it before, we'll do it again. It's what America's all about. C) Rally round the flag, boys, rally round the flag, Remember the Eighties.

If you said, "None of the above," you're actually paying attention. Because, honestly, there's nothing the least bit amusing or gut-busting or side-splitting about how we got into this situation, or the failures of the political class that helped to unleash it. The same goes for Sunday's front page of the New York Times, which showcased 1,000 COVID-related deaths -- one percent of the overall US toll (100,000) -- by highlighting some brief facts about each of them, alongside their name, age, city, and state. 

These people weren't statistics. They were somebody's father, mother, sister, brother, husband, wife, friend, partner, significant other, whatever you call it -- they don't deserve to be forgotten amid a sea of cold type and newsprint. The Times chose an appropriate way to humanize them. 

You can't paper over that reality with a creative recipe, or a goofy photo, or organizational hack -- let alone some advert trying to gull you into buying something that just happens to fit the Big Pharma blueprint. Why aren't we pushing back?

And that's before we get to the financial grind that continues eating away at people's hearts and pocketbooks. I'm hardly driving that much, so why am I paying the full monthly whack to my insurance company? Shouldn't my rate go down somewhat? For that matter, why shouldn't any of these entities to whom I shell out so much money do likewise?

Shouldn't the Republican-led political class that controls so much of the federal government made similar adjustments? Even if they do yank away that extra $600 a week in unemployment -- that, apparently, so many people aren't getting, because so many states didn't bother to invest in their own computer systems -- what's the point of promising some "new normal," when so many jobs aren't coming back? Well, I think know the answer to that one, actually...

Empathy, shmempathy. 

The only time Republicans ever feel that emotion is when their rich cronies swarm their offices en masse, looking for the lifeboats they don't deserve. For everyone else, it's, "You're on your own. And oh yeah, if you do get a paddle, it's gonna cost you 300 bucks instead of the usual 30. Have a nice one."

But these are the issues questions I want people to continue asking, rather than cranking out goofy pictures or or hacks or memes or silly artwork. Because the last thing I want to hear right now, "I just flew in with this virus. And boy, are my arms tired." Cue the rimshot:

Ba-boomp! 

But seriously, folks...a funny thing happened to me on my way to sheltering in place for the next few months. --The Reckoner

My Corona Diary (Take V): The Number Crunch Continues

<"It's Raining Claims
(Deny, Deny, Deny)":
Take I

The Reckoner>

<i.>

One of my favorite sayings from the business world is this one: "Numbers don't lie. They are what they are." Makes sense, right? A business either makes money, or it doesn't. A plan either comes to fruition, or it doesn't. A product either sells, or it doesn't.

But that's not how the Trump administration seems to view it, as states race to reopen, amid mixed signals from his underlings, and lack of clear-cut guidelines. On one hand, U.S. Health Secretary Alex Azar claimed Sunday it's safe to reopen, because half of all counties nationwide haven't had a signal COVID-19 death, the Washington Post reported.

On the other hand, Federal Reserve Chair Jerome S. Powell told "60 Minutes" -- also on Sunday -- that the economy may not fully recover for another 18 months. However, while he acknowledged that unemployment may reach Great Depression-era levels of 25 percent, he then went on to claim, "We can get back to a healthy economy fairly quickly."

So who should we believe? Go back to the numbers: 89,932 deaths, 281,000 recovered cases, and 1.52 million confirmed cases nationwide. That includes 785 new deaths and 19,731 cases reported since Saturday. Here in Michigan, we're looking at 4,891 deaths and 51,142 confirmed cases (or 11 and 638 more, respectively, since Saturday). Essentially, if we look at history as our guide, we're well on our way to doubling our Vietnam War-era casualty rate. If that sounds like success, then failure can't be so bad.

For my relation who works in state government, the current crisis might well amount to a feeling of total job security, or as close as close to it as you get. But she didn't sound so thrilled when we discussed it Sunday night. That's because her agency now has 41 million outstanding claims waiting for someone to process them. As of last week, it stood at 28 million.

"Most of them are from Appalachia, and big cities, like Cleveland. And most of them are 50, still, applying for whatever they hope they can get." She sighed. "That's about two years' worth of work." She sighed once more. "Nobody's in any hurry to let us back in the building."

<"It's Raining Claims 

(Deny, Deny, Deny)":

Take II

The Reckoner>

<ii.>

There's no lack of objective measurements to guide our evaluation of how our current power structure is managing the current pandemic. Look at the struggles that millions of Americans are facing, as they try to claim unemployment benefits. What are they getting for their trouble? A bureaucratic maze of conflicting deadlines and instructions. Call centers and computer systems that can't handle the overload. Outdated websites that only aggravate the long-standing systemic problems that nobody ever bothered to correct.

The frustration with Michigan's unemployment is already being singled out as the poster child of a dysfunctional system, which is why I've included the link below. As you'll see, much of the aggravation deals from changes made by former Governor Rick Snyder, who cut the Unemployment Insurance Agency's staff by a third, imposed numerous rule changes that made it harder to claim benefits, and rolled out an automated system that falsely accused 400,000 Michiganders of benefit fraud, even though it was wrong 90 percent of the time.

Not surprisingly, of the 1.3 million who have applied -- including yours truly -- only a quarter of them, or 1.1 million, have gotten their benefits. On one level, this figure reflects the usual granite-hearted approach that typifies Republicans like Synder, whose mantra ("Do it the cheapest, nastiest way possible") should feel distressingly familiar to anyone who unwittingly drank his poisoned water in Flint. It also typifies the bare-knuckled grudges that power the GOP calculus: They're nonwhite, they're not making money, they're not part of the nuclear family, and they'll never vote for us, anyway. So fuck 'em.

On a deeper level, though, the current crisis has totally shredded the pretense of our "safety net." Guess what? It's nowhere nearly as strong as the pundits claimed. How can we even talk about a recovery, with so many needless deaths, and so many out of work, or barely working at all? How is an adjunct army of millions, who don't have a voice, and have remained largely invisible until the pandemic broke, ever going to create wealth for itself, let alone a nation? What's the point of dangling out promises like deferred payments, or payment plans, when you can't make your monthly nut, to begin with?

These are the questions that we need to ask, and demand answers. Here's one final figure to ponder: we have more deaths than any other nation, of which 17,000 are African-American. Of the 39 states for which data has been collected, African-Americans accounted for just 13 percent of the population, yet 27 percent of the deaths, the Washington Post stated Sunday.

Remember, numbers don't lie. They are what they are. Yet Trump and his misfit crew stoutly maintain, "Mission accomplished." Therein lies the current national disconnect. --The Reckoner


Links To Go (Imagine That,
A Power Structure That Hoovers Up Our Money)

Bridge Michigan: Coronavirus Tracker
https://www.bridgemi.com/michigan-health-watch/coronavirus-tracker-what-michigan-needs-know-now
Detroit Free Press
How Rick Snyder Made It Harder
To Collect Unemployment Benefits:
https://www.freep.com/story/opinion/columnists/nancy-kaffer/2020/05/15/rick-snyder-michigan-unemployment-fund-uia/5182208002/

My Corona Diary (Take IV): The COVID Death Toll Crunch ("It Didn't Have To Be This Way")

<i.>

Alive or dead, Joseph Stalin surely ranks among the most horribly quotable leaders of all time. I reached that conclusion a couple weeks ago, after finally finishing a book that I'd been reading, off and on, for two years... The Court of The Red Tsar (2003), by Simon Sebag Montefiore. I picked it up for a buck from my local Dollartree, of all places, during the winter of 2018. 

As a paperback, it's massive, indeed, weighing in at 720 pages, but one that benefits from a trove of previously unseen archive material, plus numerous primary sources -- many well in their eighties or nineties, who labored far from the spotlight enjoyed by Stalin and his inner circle of "magnates," as the author labels them. 

Yet they shed invaluable light on the Soviet leader's numerous contradictions, as the Economist's review ("Blood On The Tracks," 7/14/03) notes: "His account does give one a start. It is much easier to read ghastly accounts of Beria's debauchery, or Stalin's paranoia, than anecdotes about children scampering happily through their parents' Kremlin offices, or of Stalin's punctilious habits in his personal correspondence, his bizarre flashes of kindness and decency or his extraordinary appetite for books."

Among the magnates, Stalin became equally renowned and feared for his ability to sum up an issue through statements that could wax caustic or chilling, depending on his mood -- and the situation -- of the moment. At various times, he could swing from simple observation ("If you want to know the people around you, find out what they read"), to the relentless, heartless calculus that always drove the cogs of his police state ("Death solves all problems -- no man, no problem"), to twilight year confessions of the weary business of clinging to power ("I'm finished. I trust no one, not even myself").

Seen in this light, it's not hard to understand how the man who presided over an estimated 20 to 27 million civilian and military casualties in World War II might say, "A single death is a tragedy, a million deaths is a statistic" -- even as doubt persists about its origins, or if he said it at all. But there's little question that his knack for pithy observation served him well throughout his long and bloody reign as Soviet Russia's second dictator, from 1929 to 1953.

<"And On And On And On...?"
Take I: The Reckoner>

<ii.>

Writing off great chunks of the populace is part of any dictator's playbook. Stalin is hardly unique in that respect. But the Trump regime seems to be governing along the same lines, like his rightist counterparts around the world -- notably, Brazil's Jair Bolsonaro, who refuses to institute any significant social distancing or testing measures, even as his nation's overall toll continues to climb (157,000 cases, 61,685 recoveries, 10,741 deaths). 

Of course, Brazil's body count pales against our own, where roughly 80,000 have already died. To put that figure in perspective, that's higher than the total number of GIs killed in Vietnam (58,220), or fatal crashes on American highways (36,550 for 2018, the latest year for which statistics are available). 

Yet those figures, grim as they undoubtedly read, may well be considered the good old days, according to the University of Washington,'s Institute for Health Metrics and Evaluation, which now projects a figure of 137,000 deaths by August 4. Not that Americans see better days coming any time soon. 

The latest figures I've seen show 89.5 million people have gotten their so-called stimulus check, for an average payout of $1,792. Forty-six percent of the 2,200 participants in an April 22 Money/Morning Consult survey have already spent their payout, or expect it to last less than four weeks. Seventy-percent of those surveyed didn't expect it to last beyond four weeks.

No matter. Gripped by only one consideration -- an additional four-year blank check to do whatever it sees fit -- the Trump regime is barreling to reopen the economy, against all advice to the contrary, as I noted in my last post ("Pandemic, Shmandemic"), a reflex surely aggravated by the lack of unified federal response. 

Or, as I tell people, it's the current game of, "Here a state, there a state, everywhere a state, state (sung to the tune of, 'Old McDonald Had A Farm')." Some leaders are trying to comfort themselves that they can have it both ways, as Georgia Governor Brian Kemp told MSN.com. For his state's grand reopening bonanza, Kemp promised MSN that he "will urge businesses to take precautions, such as screening for fevers, spacing workstations apart and having workers wear gloves and masks 'if appropriate.'"

"If appropriate?" Would you visit those particular barber shops, bowling alleys, massage parlors or tanning salons, to name four types of businesses that Georgia's deciding to reopen?

I thought not.

You can see almost see the gears grinding in the White House. Ah, it's just the poor and those sh#ithole country refugees getting thrown to the wolves. They wouldn't vote for us, anyway, so who cares? If they die, so be it. But we still need them at their multiple shit jobs, so let's just shove their asses back out there, however we can. We aren't done using them yet.

You can also find no lack of statistics to illustrate the humanitarian toll of the pandemic. A few that I've gleaned from Bernie Sanders' weekly email should suffice: 

"While 87 million Americans were uninsured or underinsured, the health care industry made $100 billion in profits."

"Last year, Oxfam reported that the richest one percent of the world’s population owned more than twice as much wealth as the bottom half of humanity. Meanwhile, nearly half of the global population was trying to survive on less than $5.50 a day and 820 million were going hungry."

"Over the past six weeks, while over 30 million Americans lost their jobs and many small businesses have gone bankrupt, Jeff Bezos, the owner of Amazon and the wealthiest person in the world, increased his wealth by over $40 billion."

"While workers at Walmart continue to make poverty wages and are putting their lives at risk, the Walton family, the wealthiest family in America, has seen their wealth go up by more than $30 billion — just since March 12th."

"Before the pandemic, 18 million families in America were paying over half of their limited incomes on rent. Today, it has gotten worse. No American should be evicted from their home because they can’t afford to pay for housing. Nobody in the richest country in the world should be sleeping out on the streets.

"Before the pandemic, half of Americans aged 55 and older had no retirement savings. We have got to make sure that every senior citizen can retire with dignity and every person with a disability can live with the security they need."

"And On And On And On...?"
Take II: The Reckoner>

<iii.>

Had enough yet? Feeling sufficiently depressed? I imagine so, if you don't have a heart of stone. But if we want any hope of changing the conversation, we need to keep these creepy little factoids front and center, as disturbing as they are. Too many social policies and laws suffer from of appearing created in some airless terrarium, where light and sound, along with the traffic of heartfelt convictions, and the grimy practicalities of implementation, are never allowed to intrude. 

Yet if we are to survive -- or God forbid, reach some measure of progress,  within our lifetimes -- it's imperative that we break off those habits, and shake loose the chains of the past that have imprisoned us for so long. That starts by taking a hard look at the way this unforgiving pandemic is affecting peoples' lives.  At least, that's how the presumptive Democratic nominee, Joe Biden, earnestly summarized it recently for CNN:

"God knows how many family members whose lives have been upended, their dreams destroyed...going to bed at night staring at the ceiling wondering, my God, how am I going to get through this. What kind of future will we have?... And here's the tragedy, it didn't have to be this way."

"It didn't have to be this way." That's as good as an epitaph as you'll find for a crumbling, stumbling superpower, isn't it?

I'll leave you with one more snapshot, that I gleaned from a relative who works in state government. During our weekly phone chat, she mentioned that the current crisis will easily eclipse what happened in 2006, when roughly 12 million people filed disability claims with her agency.

"So how does it look this time around?" I ventured to ask.

"I'll put it this way: those 12 million claims kept us into overtime for a year and a half. As I look at this week's numbers..." She paused. "They're somewhere around 28 million, and most of them are over 55. Because you know what happened last time: many of them never got re-hired at their old jobs. And when they file, they file for everything. Including disability."

Let those numbers sink in, if only for a moment. Now imagine these people being left to their fates, even as our so-called leadership pats itself on the back, and declares, "Mission accomplished." Sound familiar? So should the ending of that particular photo-op. We all know that turned out.--The Reckoner

Links To Go (Don't Hurry,
Or They'll Shoo You Back To Work)
LA Times
Projections Show
California Cases And Deaths Rising:
https://www.latimes.com/california/story/2020-05-10/california-coronavirus-cases-deaths-rising-more-than-expected

MSN.com
States Rushing To Reopen
Are Likely Making A Deadly Error:
msn.com/en-us/news/world/states-rushing-to-reopen-are-likely-making-a-deadly-error-coronavirus-models-and-experts-warn/ar-BB133x6V

Quote Investigator
A SIngle Death Is A Tragedy...
https://quoteinvestigator.com/2010/05/21/death-statistic/

My Corona Diary (Take III): Pandemic, Shmandemic (Get Your Asses Back To Work)

<Eternally Yours (1978)
US LP Front Cover><https://punkygibbon.co.uk/bands/s/saints_eternally.html>

Don't talk to me 'bout what you've done
There ain't nothin' changed, it all goes on

They'll keep laughin' till the end

This perfect day

What more to say

Don't need no one to tell me what I already know

"This Perfect Day" (The Saints)

<i.>

My mouth gets me in trouble sometimes. I'm thinking of a verbal donneybrook that I got into during the 2008 recession, with a friend of Squawker's. They not friendly anymore, but that's another story for another day. 

I didn't get along with this particular gal, either. When she wasn't constantly lecturing me about this, that, and the other -- mostly, how I looked, or I didn't choose H2O as my favorite tipple -- she never stopped pontificating about whatever issue of the day crossed her mind. I'll call her Austere Annie.

I don't remember anymore how we got onto this particular topic, but somehow, the old "they-could-get-a-job-if-they-wanted-it" chestnut wandered into our kitchen table discussion, like that drunk boyfriend who's willed himself off the couch. "Well, Annie, I don't know," I said. "All I can say is, how many 50-plus-year-olds are they hiring lately?"

"Look at what I do, though," Annie argued. "I work at the cleaner, I walk all these dogs, I'm not just sitting around."

"Neither am I, exactly." My eyes roamed toward the ceiling. Lord oh lord, how do I get out of this one? "But I have a better idea. Why not just join the underground economy? More opportunities to move up, better pay, get to travel, meet interesting people, pick your own hours..."

Annie widened her eyes in horror. "How can you say that? There's plenty of opportunities out there that don't involve doing something..."

"C'mon, Annie," I shrugged. "It's a joke. Actually, Woody Allen says something similar in 'Take The Money And Run.' I got a million of 'em, if you want."

Now hold that thought. We'll circle back to it soon enough.

<"Hey Bossman (Takes I-III)..."
The Reckoner>

Ain't nobody tells me what to do now

I've heard all the lies and been promised the world

No businessman is gonna use or confuse me

'Cause I ain't no puppet for his capital gain

And what do you get but exploitation

From creeps who are gonna ignore your situation?

Too many people gettin' pushed around
Gonna end up down the lost and found

"Lost & Found" (The Saints)

<ii.>

Released in May 1978, the Saints' second album, Eternally Yours, maintained the energy of their classic debut, (I'm) Stranded (1977), while adding subtle touches (notably, horns, harmonica, a dab of organ via drummer Ivor Hay) that hinted at more adventurous musical explorations down the road, as did moody, acoustic slow burners like "Untitled," and "A Minor Aversion," whose lyrics about love gone sour ("Don't you know that this thing can't last/And don't you know this time will pass/These dreams are not your own anymore"), might well apply to a certain, ah, occupant at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.

Of course, there were plenty of fast burners to keep the faithful happy, such as "Run Down," the cheeky twin pairing of "Know Your Product," and "No, Your Product," plus the two I've chosen to quote here, "This Perfect Day" -- an honest to goodness Top 40 single, the band's only one -- and "Lost & Found," which aptly sum up the prevailing mood, as the body count from COVID-19 continues to pile up. How do Trump, his henchmen and all their faithful red state allies respond, you might ask? Hence, the title of this post:

"Pandemic, Shmandemic! 

"Get Your Ass Back To Work!"

As states rush to reopen their so-called economies -- the same ones that COVID-19 devastated, in case we forgot -- check out the scam they're pulling in Iowa, where its Workforce Development gremlins have just announced that refusing to return to work will be deemed a "voluntary quit," even fear of infection is the reason. Say goodbye to any current or future state benefits, plus those $600 per week federal benefits.

Or, as IWD Director Beth Townsend helpfully explains in the state's press release: "For Iowans whose employment may be permanently affected by the outbreak, we have many training opportunities under Future Ready Iowa to help them obtain training and begin a new career in a high-demand, high-paying job."

Similar maneuvers are underway in Texas, which officially reopened May 1, and Oklahoma, as Robert Reich reports in his own column, where he quotes the latter state's jobless czar along these lines: "If the employer will contact us...we will cut off their benefits."

Oh, and in case anyone missed the punchline, Senator Lindsey Graham (R-SC) said Wednesday, at a state panel about his own state's rush to reopen: "I promise you, over our dead bodies will this ($600 federal jobless benefits) get reauthorized. We've got to stop this. You cannot turn on the economy until you get this aberration of the law fixed."

Nice guys, eh? So much for "unemployment compensation on steroids," as Senate Minority Leader Chuck Schumer called it, when Congress passed the measure.

<iii.>

Of course, those steroids -- unemployment-related, or not -- only work if you get your hands on them. My own experiences with Michigan's system mirror a lot of the frustration brewing out there. At various times, I got locked out of my account, knocked off the phone, or frozen from proceeding with my claim until I entered my life's various mundane details, like my address, as the system preferred. It took a fair bit of research to sort out all these points.

Things took a truly surreal turn on Tuesday, when two pieces of mail arrived -- one, to tell me that I'd no longer get those "Go Green" alerts in my e-mail, the other, requesting more information, even though its website allowed me to file for the minimal level of benefits ($160 per week), without having to provide any.

Got all that? Dealing with public agencies often reminds me of the party scene from Alice In Wonderland: "Have some tea. There isn't any."

For millions of Americans, however, the ante is about to crank up in the most unforgiving way imaginable. Pandemic be damned, promises of support be damned, public sentiment be damned. Get your asses back to work, because the people who've been taking us all for a ride need you back at the hamster wheel. You can keep running in place, as you've done all along, by whatever name you call it -- adjunct, contract, temporary, work for hire, take your pick. It's all the same, and it's all contaminated by association.

If this is really is the "new normal" we're going to resume, count me out. That smells like the same normal that stopped working for so many of us so long ago.

Then again, it's not really about you, is it? The Orange Monster in the White House is so desperate to claw back his way to re-election, that he's willing to roll the dice, with millions of reluctant workers, essential or not, as his unwilling human shields. That's all it's about, really.

Or, as Congresswoman Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez recently told VICE News -- only in America, when the President talks about liberation, "does it mean, 'Get back to work.'"

<iv.>

Looking back on my verbal brawl with Austere Annie, I find that this calamity strikingly resembles the 2008 economic meltdown, only with the "corporations are people, too" concept taken to its most absurd extreme. We're talking about unemployment rates not seen since the Great Depression (20 percent, with 30.3 million unemployment claimants), even as corporate interests hoovered up $1.1 billion of the $2.2 million earmarked for small business relief through the Paycheck Protection Program.

The PPP fund is another great example of the Orwellian misnaming that often accompanies these ventures, just like the Oklahoma official threatening to cut off benefits happens to head the --  wait for it -- Oklahoma Employment Security Commission. I guess he meant his job security, right? Honestly, it's all too whacked out for words.

All the more galling, when you consider that people are still expected to conjure money out of thin air to make their weekly and/or monthly nut, even as the empty suits set about steering money to themselves and their buddies. As the Huffington Post story notes, the corporations that seriously dented the PPP fund got forgivable loans. That sounds like Uncle Sam doesn't expect to see that money back, right?

What relief can the average person expect, once they know they can't pay their rent? At most, a payment plan, or a deferred payment -- meaning, a promise to make good on whatever they owe at some point in the future. Same goes for student loans, or whatever debt you care to name. At best, you'll get a few months' timeout from having to pay them when you're in the nursing home. Some relief.

I'm reminded of a county commission meeting in my reporting days, where the chairman interrupted a colleague hectoring him about some obscure feature of the annual budget. He posed a rhetorical question: "What is a budget, exactly? A plan for spending. That's all. We make statements about where we're going to spend our money, and what we're spending it on."

With COVID-19, we're doing likewise. We're making statements, all right, but they just happen to be in all the wrong places. --The Reckoner

And what do you get but exploitation

From creeps who are gonna ignore your situation?

<Eternally Yours (1978)
Back Cover, US LP>

Links To Go (Hurry, So The Oligarchy
Can Herd You Back At Your Desk):

Common Dreams
Only In Trump's America:
https://www.commondreams.org/news/2020/04/29/only-trumps-america-despite-covid-19-employees-texas-and-iowa-told-get-back-work-or

The Guardian
Donald Trump's Four-Step Plan:
https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2020/may/03/donald-trump-reopen-us-economy-lethal-robert-reich

The Huffington Post
Congress Will Extend Unemployment Boost
Over "Our Dead Bodies":
https://www.huffpost.com/entry/lindsey-graham-dead-bodies-unemployment-benefits_n_5eadf270c5b659c79250384e

My Corona Diary (Take II): No Go (At The Drive-Thru A Go-Go)

<"Drive-Thru a Go-Go (Take I)": The Reckoner>

<i.>

We'd been idling in line for five minutes now, but the monster truck with the battleship-sized tailgate still hadn't moved. Theoretically, we should have been well on our way to picking up our Mexican takeout. 

After six long weeks, our favorite taqueria had finally reopened, and The Squawker and I were looking forward, respectively, to some burritos and guacamole, and a couple chorizo tacos and fries, the first such fare we'd since this pandemic panic revved up in earnest. When the apocalypse hits, you take your pleasures where you find them, right?

Except...we were out of cash, so we had to stop at the bank, whose lobby is currently available by appointment only. Well, it shouldn't take long, right? I assured myself. 

Five more minutes ticked by, and I could feel Squawker growing ever more restless. "What's with that guy?" I could feel The Squawker shifting beside me, barely apparent at first, then rocking slightly back and forth in the passenger's seat.

"Let's just hope it isn't one of these people who has five bank accounts, and needs to do something with every damn one of them." I shuddered aloud. "This bank has quite a few of those customers, as I've found out from some of these 'standing in line only' experiences."

"Oh, yeah, that's right, I forgot. Lots of rich boomers in this town." I watched Squawker's face crinkle in disgust.

Just then, the truck's brake lights finally blinked, and the driver pulled out. We shared a quick laugh, which rapidly dissolved as the next car -- a mustard yellow SUV, no less garish, no less oversized than its predecessor -- pulled up.

The elderly gent got out, because he apparently couldn't reach the pneumatic tube that he needed -- we all needed -- to send the container whizzing to the tellers, safely tucked away behind their own refuge of thick shatterproof glass.

I watched him lean against the column housing said pneumatic tube, grab the container, fiddle with it, and finally send it whooshing back up the pipeline.

"Hmm, this seems to be taking a bit longer..." I checked the dashboard clock: 1:45 had rolled around, some 15 minutes after we'd called in our order, the same one they were going to have ready in 10 minutes.

"I don't believe this! Honk your horn -- maybe he'll get the hint!" Squawker's face's had now hardened into a take-no-prisoners frown.

I'd seen that same frown, whenever we'd parked on the phone waiting for a human at the IRS, or struggled to work out the faltering bedknobs and broomsticks rattling the state's jerry-rigged unemployment comp site -- any one of those "hurry up and wait" situations designed to annoy, and wear you down to a resigned frazzle.

The line had now swelled to three or four cars apiece, across three of the four drive through lanes. "I could honk all day long," I sighed, "but I don't think it'd get this anywhere, at this point."

"But what we do now? We don't want them to think they've run out on us..."

"Tell you what, dear old Squawker," I suggested. "Hand me your phone."  The time had now ticked ahead to 1:50 p.m.

<"Drive-Thru a Go-Go (Take II)": The Reckoner>

<ii.>

I did the natural thing. I dialed the number, and let the taqueria -- the same one, in fact, that beckoned across the street -- that we'd be later than we expected. "I'm still stuck here at the bank," I explained. "You wouldn't think the drive through would get so overrun, even on Friday, but..."

"Sounds like one of those days," the cashier responded. "No problem, it'll be here for you."

"Just keep it warm for us. Thanks." I handed the phone back to Squawker. "Relax now, it's all done and dusted."

"Maybe not yet." The Squawker gestured ahead, where the same elderly gent had gotten out a couple more times, leaning against the same column for support, as he painstakingly got out whatever slips he needed to sign, and signed them, ever so slowly.

Finally, the gent pulled away, but one more truck still loomed ahead, one about half the size of its tanklike counterpart. Even so, it still boasted an impressive tailgate.

The time now stood at 1:55 p.m.

"Here we go again," I sighed. "Hmm, do you have any money? Maybe we could pay cash, or use your debit card, and come back."

"Afraid not," Squawker responded. "Look." The wallet looked forlorn and empty. "I gave you the last of my cash for the laundry, remember?"

"Oh yeah, now that I think of it..."

We felt the minute hand moving like yesterday's molasses, the same molasses that couldn't feel bothered to slide down the wall. Unlike the last customer, this particular driver didn't feel the need to get out.

But we couldn't work out what was taking him so long. From the looks of it, the guy's rear window hadn't encountered a drip of water in, well, quite some time. Three weeks or four, who could tell, exactly? But it doesn't really matter, does it, since the local car wash is shut down, too.

"I can't believe this, now..."  When I hear the Squawker audibly shudder, it's not a pretty sound. It's the sound of the lit fuse, steadily fizzing, until it goes off with an almighty ka-bang! "What is he doing, anyway?"

A couple more minutes drip, drip, drip away, before Oversized Truck #2 finally pulls off. Well, not exactly. He parks near the bank, where his truck is taking up too much room for us to nudge past him.

Now it's my turn to audibly shudder: "Oh, Jesus, now what..." 

Thankfully, he's pulled away by the time we finish withdrawing our money, and signing the slip for it. Thanks to all these lines, we've fiddled away a good 25-30 minutes. At least our food still feels warm when we get it...right? 

Maybe that's why we elect to go home, and eat it there -- never know when you need the microwave, right? -- instead of heading straight to the park, as we originally planned. Well, we do make it there later, but only we've had a chance to clear the jangle out of our nerves, and our brains.

Today's unsolicited adventure at the drive-through leaves a question mark hanging in my head. An off day at the races, or the shape of things to come? We'll find out soon enough, I guess. --The Reckoner