My Corona Diary (Take XXXIV): Everything's Such A Sh#tshow ("Take What Charlie Gives You")

 

<"Everything's Such A Shitshow":

Take I/The Reckoner>

<i.>

A few weeks back, I found myself getting some Chinese takeout food. It's a habit that we fall into whenever we're pressed for time, like the annual fall and winter Appoointment Blizzard, as we call it -- when the Squawker and I try squeezing in various medical appointments, before it's too brutally cold to venture out much.

So if the appointment's at 11:30 a.m., we eat lunch out, instead of heading home. Or, if my presence is required at 3:00 p.m., and we have grocery shopping to cram in, too, we'll wind up getting dinner out.

That's what I was doing at China Paradise, waiting on our usual dinner combo -- a large order of chicken mei fun, General Tsao's chicken, won ton soup, and a couple egg rolls. The owner's son rings up my order and asks, "So how's it going?"

"Oh, the usual," I shrug. "I got a copyediting project to finish off for somebody, waiting to get paid for some proofreading, got appointments for X, Y and Z this week..."

"Yeah, I got a couple things on the calendar myself." He forces a smile, and slides the brown grocery bag of food through the plexiglas barrier that's still up, a year and a half after the COVID-19 bomb dropped on us all. "Everything's a shitshow, you know?"

I take my bag. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, you know..." The owner's son gestures at the barrier that separates us from each other. "Here it is, a year and a half later, and we're still..."

"In the same place," I nod. "Not what you expected, is it?"

"Not really, no." Now it's his turn to force a weak smile. "Not to mention, what might happen next fall, with the elections. We're so fucked."

I'm assuming that he means the potential Republican takeover of the U.S. House of Representatives, based on them gerrymandering enough states to tip the majority their way, without ever scrapping for a single vote.

A suitably depressing piece of news, to be sure, but I'm too tired to press the point, so I opt for the usual banality: "Well, we'll all just have to do the best we can."

"Yeah, but everything's such a shitshow."

<Yup, yup, and...yup!>

<ii.>

I file that conversation away for future reference, in case I need it. Cue up another disquieting snapshot of our national temperature, state of the nation, whatever you care to call it -- this time, at the checkout counter of our local grocery store, Matthew's. 

Since we're returning from yet another appointment, we choose a store that's five miles from our in-town one. That way, we can combine the medical trip with our biweekly grocery run.

We're getting ready to check out, and the cashier, one of countless forty- or fiftysomething women working these jobs, stops for a moment, and arches her back. She visibly grimaces. "Are you all right?" I ask.

The cashier forces a smile. "Yeah, well, I'm having back problems. I've always had them, but lately..." She gestures at the empty checkout lanes on either side of us, and then, the line streching out behind Squawker and myself. "I'm the only one here, and..."

I help finish her the sentence. "That's been the case for a little while now, at least."

"Exactly." She goes back to hitting the register. "It's stressing me out a lot, and if this keeps up... Honestly, I'm about ready to quit."

"I understand. They call it combat pay, for a reason."

"Well, yeah, and we don't get that," she laughs. 

"At least you've got somebody to help out." I gesture at the bagger, a young twentysomething guy, who also looks like the only one available.

Our cashier finishes ringing up our purchases, the latest items of another roughly two-week run of food. I write the check, and hand it over, then follow the bagger, with Squawker bringing up the rear.

<Money Quotes Daily:
itsamoneything.com>

<iii.>

As you've seen, it's been awhile since I've checked in here. Part of the reason is the usual million things going on, like the Appointment Blizzard detailed above. Part of it is the usual professional grind, for me. Now that pandemic benefits are over, it's back to the figuring out clever workarounds to fill in the widening blanks in our bank account. At least, until the next economic implosion.

I actually considered breaking off this current series, and starting a "Post-Corona Diary," if you like. But I decided against it, since we're facing many of the same issues: to reopen, or not reopen? To risk, or not to risk, large group activities? To test, or not to test? The fog of anxiety hangs in the air, and I'm not sure where we're headed yet.

Actually, I can, on one front. Thanks to the Republican wing of the Democratic Party, we're not getting any of the changes that we demanded -- as the $10 Million Country Boy, Senator Joe Manchin ("D"-WV), made clear today, when he declared his opposition to President Biden's $1.75 trillion Build Back Better plan. On FOX News, no less. 

Say goodbye to all the ambitions wrapped up in that package -- the same one that Manchin played a significant part in shaving from $3.5 to $1.75 trillion. Gone is the $300 per child tax credit that became a centerpiece of Biden's social policy, one credited with cutting child poverty by 40%. The IRS sent out the last checks on December 15. Well, at least nobody has to worry about whether the program will continue.

Dental, hearing and vision coverage for Medicare? Forget it. We were only including hearing, and only if you begged loud enough. Free community college? Gone and forgotten. Only the rich deserve massive subsidies. Negotiating drug prices? Not a chance. Big Pharma hates it. You wouldn't want them shivering in the cold and snow, right? Paid parental leave? We started with 12 weeks, but how does four sound? Or maybe nothing? 

Merry Christmas. You're on your own. What a country.

<"Everything's Such A Shitshow"
Take II/The Reckoner>

<iv.>

I'll save the takeaways from Manchin's announcement for another post, and leave him to his 65-foot houseboat, for now. It makes an ironic perch for his rantings against "the entitlement society," as he likes to call it. I assume that includes the few COVID-19 protections that Congress enacted, from eviction moratoriums, to Pandemic Unemployment Assistance benefits (even for gig workers). 

But I suspect he hates those programs for a different reason than the one he advertises. It's not because they didn't work, but because they worked a little too well. After all, the stronger you leave the precariart, the less necessary -- and less relevant -- relics like the $10 Million Country Boy become.

Breadheads like Manchin actually favor a different kind of dependence, one that Sidney Lumet's film, Serpico (1974), summarizes beautifully. One of my favorite scenes comes at the beginning, when the title character (Al Pacino) asks why he should accept a free creamed chicken sandwich at the local deli, when he really wants a leaner beef one. "Couldn't I pay for it, get what I want?" Serpico pleads with his new partner, Peluce.

The seen-it-all-done-it-all vet sets Serpico straight fast. "Charlie's okay," Peluce explains. "We give him a break for double parking on deliveries." Then he drops the punchline. "Frank, you just sort of generally take what Charlie gives you."

What can I say? Like I told the Squawker: we'll see what the winter brings, I guess. --The Reckoner