IRL

Last week one night as I was drifting to sleep, I had visions of Zoom meetings. Instead of thinking about some social event I attended, I pictured my computer screen. I was jolted back awake with a big dose of "WTF?" Why am viewing my life as a Zoom event? It was horrible. 

(Kind of. And I say kind of because now I am connecting with people across the country more frequently than I used to pre-COVID, especially my Dad. Okay, mainly my Dad.)

Like most people, I am spending significant time alone during COVID, so it is so nice to see people besides my building manager and baristas. So what is going to be like to get back to real life? Will we remember how to act? Will we know what to do? Will I remember how to socialize, or will I be total awkward?

Friday night, I went out with some friends. Two friends have birthdays a few days a part so I suggested a celebration. We had initially intended to go to a local brew pub, but it was full. It rained Friday afternoon and the smoky skies cleared and everyone was happier to be out and about. People showed up at five o'clock at the brew pub and then didn't leave. Who can blame them? I was planning to do the same thing.

The four of us decided to go to another nearby restaurant which is much fancier than the brew pub. Three of the four of had been to the fancier restaurant before, and one hadn't. At first, Lance looked a little disappointed that the rest of us chose someplace so staid, but that lasted about five minutes. Once we were seated, Lance told the group his dramatic story of a week long camping trip in the Rockies this summer. Having spent a good part of the summer in Montana this year, I could related to his adventures in the mountains. We were laughing so hard, we were the loudest, most raucous table in the restaurant, but in a good way. You know when you are out and see people having fun and think, "I wish I was having as much fun as them"?

We were that table.

It was awesome.

Which is interesting for many reasons. In my pre-COVID life, I'd go out all the time with different groups of friends. Now I rarely go out, so when I do go out, it is extra-super special.

Saturday I went to lunch with Ellen. She was ten minutes late so the owner came by to tell me about the specials. For ten minutes. Which was fine, because I was sitting there by myself and how often do I get to talk to people in real life? Plus, the restaurant was busy by for COVID season, but not by pre-pandemic standards. When Ellen showed up, and the owner was back and still chatty. The waitress brought the food and the owner came by. Again. When we finished, he asked if we wanted dessert.

"No thanks," I said. "I'm good."

"No," he said, looking me straight in the eye. "You are great!"

Uhhhhhh.....

When he left, Ellen said, "I think he was hitting on you." Yeah, I kind of got that vibe, and it made me uncomfortable. My goal was to have a nice lunch with Ellen, not to have this guy show up for half of our meal.

Later, I got to think about it. The restaurant industry as a whole is struggling, but I bet the individuals who work and run restaurants are struggling, too. This guy might not have been specifically hitting on me. Rather, he might have been so happy to be back in business and schmoozing with customers that he was a little overzealous. Instead of the usual sixty customers, there were sixteen. I imagine people who own restaurants love to entertain and make people happy, and they haven't been able to do that for several months.

Today, I talked to my Dad for an hour and forty minutes on the phone. He said he is reading Squeeze Me by Carl Hiaasen and recommended I read it. Instead of ordering it for my Kindle or via Amazon, I decided to see if I could get a local hardcopy. I called Elliott Bay Books and they put a copy on hold for me. I decided to take my life into my own hands and take the Light Rail to Capitol Hill to pick the book, like people used to before we ordered everything in. The Light Rail had construction, so I rode a bus to Capitol Hill.

A bus. 

This was the first time in more than six months that I haven't take public transportation. Everyone had their face masks on. Everyone sat appropriately apart. The bus was free. But it was still a bus.

When I got to Elliott Bay Books, they were limiting the number of people in the store and the length of visit. There was a line of at least thirty people deep to get in. It looked like people were waiting in line for tickets to a rock concert, not to get into a bookstore. It was nuts. These people could have ordered anything in that store from Amazon for thirty percent off in three minutes and never have to leave their couch. 

But they wanted to get out. They wanted to walk through Capitol Hill. They wanted to walk through a real bookstore, not a virtual one. 

And I was in their horde.