Day 1 A.V. (After Vaccine)
9:15 A.M.: Intentionally get in a packed subway car on the way to work. Find the clammiest, most recently grasped part of the pole to hold, allowing the pole’s heat to spread inward from my palm all the way to my heart. Radiate with warmth for all of humanity. Rest my head tenderly on the backpack of the guy in front of me who keeps bumping into me, rather than tell him to shove said backpack into one of his body’s orifices.
11:45 A.M.: Send an e-mail to every single person I’ve ever corresponded with, including those with whom things ended in tears, inviting them all to my local bar for a last-minute hangout.
7:30 P.M.: At the bar, everyone ideally drinks out of a single trough, as we ignore the fact that the world is still full of numerous easily communicable diseases. Start a trend of consensual but platonic open-mouth kissing as a way to greet casual friends. I’ve missed everyone so much!
Day 2 A.V.
10 A.M.: Split a rideshare to the airport with several strangers. Ignore the impulse to simply eavesdrop on their weird arguments and instead engage them in earnest conversation. What a pleasure it is to meet new people and hear their opinions! Maybe they are planning to vote for Kanye West for President—that would be exciting! Buy a round-trip ticket to a nearby city for that afternoon and insist on being patted down by T.S.A. agents on both legs of the journey—even though you don’t technically have to go through security on the way back—just for the thrill of the physical contact.
Day 3 A.V.
1:17 P.M.: Offer to take a picture for a group of tourists standing seven across and blocking the entire sidewalk. After noticing that the iPhone they hand me is sticky, wash hands for only thirteen seconds. When one of the tourists sneezes without covering his mouth, cheerfully say “Bless you!” and don’t give it another thought. It’s probably fine!
9 P.M.: Meet up with a few close friends for duets-only karaoke, with all songs performed Springsteen-style (standing cheek to cheek, singing into a single microphone). Intentionally choose songs with lots of wide-open-mouth whooooooaaaaa moments to really hammer home how safe it is to be out on the town, inhaling and exhaling.
Day 4 A.V.
11:35 A.M.: Wait in line for an hour at the brunch place that is always packed—you know, the one that’s directly next door to an arguably better brunch place where there is no line. Eat inside, even though it’s one of the three good days all year for outdoor dining and the air conditioning is way too cold for the clothes I’m wearing. Breathe in that sweet recycled air.
1:42 P.M.: Take a rideshare home (no strangers this time—what was I thinking before?), where the only things I’m worried about lingering in the air of the Hyundai Elantra are the sound of the driver’s mixtape and the smell of the cigarette he was definitely smoking with the windows up immediately before I got in the car.
Day 5 A.V.
All day: Open every door I encounter without pulling my sleeve over my hand as some kind of contagion prophylactic (did that help at all?) and operate elevator buttons with the tip of my index finger instead of the knuckle (that couldn’t possibly have done anything, right?). Give a very dirty look to someone who chooses to stand next to me, instead of in another unoccupied-elevator corner. Luxuriate in the feeling of being annoyed by a stranger without feeling simultaneously terrified of them.
6 P.M.: Attend political protest with the only danger of respiratory harm being if police decide to shoot tear gas into the crowd for some reason—so, still pretty likely!
Day 6 A.V.
2:30 P.M.: While running errands, duck into an overpriced gift shop to avoid a college acquaintance spotted across the street, who I am worried might easily recognize me now that I’m not wearing a mask outdoors. Realize that I have already grown tired of post-coronavirus small talk.
3:45 P.M.: Become actively offended when a colleague pulls out a bottle of hand sanitizer after shaking my hand. What the hell is this guy’s problem?
Day 7 A.V.
10:15 A.M.: Cancel plans to meet up with my best friend for dinner, in favor of a Zoom call.
12 P.M.: Cancel Zoom call with best friend.
7:45 P.M.: Order pizza and watch “Cheers” reruns with my wife. Do not even notice how close together everyone is sitting at the bar onscreen.
