Way back in the 20th century, there was a movie called “I was a Teenage Frankenstein.” Coming only five months after “I was a Teenage Werewolf,” this movie wasn’t bad, as monster movies from the 1950s go. If you know the story of “Frankenstein,” mad scientist assembles a whole human from spare parts, you get the gist of the teenage version.
I don’t really remember much of the movie, only that like most failed experiments of that mad scientist era, just about everybody dies in the end. Lesson learned, don’t make people from spare parts — cue the spooky music, roll the credits.
Now, I don’t bring this up because I’m reminding everyone not to go all mad scientist on me during these maddening days.
This Teenage Frankenstein stuck with me all these years, and has recently popped back into my psyche because of the young man’s lament. Stuck in a lab, lonely and sad, he kept saying: “When can I go outside? I want to see people!”
So here we are, the relevance of a 1957 monster movie resurfacing today. That was the saddest thing I had ever heard in my young life, the loneliness of just wanting to see other people. Until COVID-19.
As this monster of a pandemic continues to envelop us and change how we live every second of every day, I’m realizing how many of the little, (we thought) inconsequential things we are missing in this social-physical-distancing-isolation reality show we can’t turn off.
Two days ago, my phone reminded me of the lunch plans I had with my best friend. Since we live relatively far apart and live such different lives, we’ve carved out one Tuesday a month to meet and catch up. We’ve been through singlehood, marriagehood, raising children into young adulthood together. She is one of my lifelines and I miss that time we get to commiserate over a meal (with dessert — because calories don’t count if you’re with a friend).
And that’s not the only regular encounter I miss.
We are thinking twice about every time we’re out in public.
Now I must mask up before taking the dog for a walk, and give any and all fellow pedestrians, dog-walkers, joggers, and bicyclists, a wide berth. I don’t look at them and smile the way I’ve always done (I’m from the Midwest where we say Good Morning to strangers in the elevators). Now I keep my head down and look away. They say it’s not just coughing and sneezing that can spread this respiratory nightmare. CNN has reported it can be spread just by breathing the same air — hence the masks, even if you’re not sick.
The fallout from this crisis will devastate many. After all, there are some people who don’t know if they’re going to have a roof over their heads, or a job to come back to after being laid off, or if they’re going to be so far underwater from debt — either regular utility payments, or car loans, or rent — that they won’t see their way clear for most of their lives.
If you have a preexisting condition, you may believe this coronavirus will be your undoing. Not only are you scared for you, your family is scared for you. If one of you works with the public, or in the healthcare industry, the fear is real — and constant.
If you have no health insurance, or are underinsured, you may choose to ignore any symptoms and rely on sketchy Internet cures, because you don’t want to burden your family with five-and-six-figure debt, should you need hospitalization. Inequity in services and accessibility is highlighted here. Will it still be addressed when this is over, or will we continue to see how the poor and people of color are disproportionately afflicted and affected, but decide not to do what’s necessary to guarantee healthcare for all?
These are all big picture problems, the ones we can talk about. No matter where we live right now, there’s no place to go to get away from it all.
But then there are the First World problems we can’t complain about, because it makes us seem petty and small. I’ll mention them here, so you won’t have to. Because, yes, we’re all in this together, we’re all alone together, and we’re all sticking “stay home” and “stay safe” stickers on our Instagram feeds. But missing the little niceties we do to make us feel human kind of stings.
For instance, I’ve needed a manicure and pedicure for three weeks. My foolish eyelash extensions are a memory, and my roots are the reason I’ll be wearing hats, scarves, and hoodies into the month of June if this lockdown lasts that long.
My wardrobe for work is now sweatpants, tee shirts, big house shoes and a makeup-less face that could stop a clock. Luckily we don’t use Zoom for our daily meetups.
And there’s that whole food thing. Some families are experiencing food insecurity right now and that’s a serious issue. But others of us have more food and snacks than we could eat if we had to go into bunkers for six months. When you’re home all day, with little to do, and not a lot of inspiration for exercising or (heaven forbid!), cleaning, there is only one other option. So with every morsel I have to first ask myself, “are you hungry, or are you bored?”
You can FaceTime, and do crafts, and call people, and gourmet cook to your heart’s content, but when there’s no end in sight, those little things become all the big things we yearn for.
This will end. I will see my manicurist and hairstylist again. I will get back to dance and exercise classes (although Zoom is a welcome alternative). I will walk my dog without looking like I’m headed out to stick up a 7-Eleven.
And we will all appreciate each other more when we’re not all lamenting: When can I go outside? I want to see people!
