As I gather my thoughts for this piece, I am distracted by the cacophony of colour outside my window, nature's paintbrush seemingly more brilliant this fall than previous memory, and I find myself mentally retracing the events of the past few days with mild curiousity, some of it not really adding up. The good news is that Joyce and I survived the inevitable Covid-19 infection with relatively few dire consequences or repercussions. The bad news is that it happened at all.
As background, we both felt strongly that the vaccination argument held true so we willingly accepted the "jab" as often as the Ministry would allow for, Joyce's birthday allowing her to sneak in a 4th shot ahead of the government's cave-in to public pressure that allowed "young'ins" like me to get theirs. Having a somewhat thorough education in the sciences, I felt competent in understanding the mechanism behind vaccinations and how it would provide us with an immunity to severe Covid implications. Having said that, we also felt strongly that we should do all we could to decrease exposure since our nuclear family included a host of diabetics, an octogenarian, a nonagenarian, and an active cancer battle. Conscientious use of quality masks, fastidious personal hygiene, and avoidance of super-spreader events were the daily norm.
The aforementioned inevitable collision occurred because we let our guard down after seeing so many others returning to "normal" activities, so when we found ourselves out and about with errands that required a trip to Barrie, we shrugged off our paranoia with indoor dining room settings for a treat of quality cooking from The Mexican House in the city's south end by rationalizing that we were the only patrons in the entire place. Of course, as you might have guessed, that soon changed and despite our tentative natures, we continued to enjoy a most delicious meal (you REALLY should try this place if you're a fan of Mexican). As time ebbed on with neither of us feeling even a trace of Covid-like symptoms, we surmised that we "dodged the proverbial bullet".
Bolstered by this minor success, I chose to accept an invitation to join some friends in an adult beverage at a local Barrie watering hole in celebration of some recent success, yet while the libations and snacks were most enjoyable, the arrival of a sore throat, drippy nose and dry cough a couple of days later were concrete proof that I had made a poor choice after all. You can likely guess that if I had symptoms, I was actively sharing my demise with Joyce, and she should expect her own battle soon enough.
I was feeling ashamed when I contacted my Simcoe Cycling friends with the news of my carelessness since I had spent the day before traversing gravel trails throughout Simcoe with them, but as the days proceeded, I was relieved to learn that no one had received a large enough dose from me to fall victim.
On this Heavenly Birthday of my D.O.D., I'm reminded that one of the many benefits of being my father's son was the immune system of steel that resulted from the constant exposure to a wide variety of maladies he would bring home from his daily battles in Royal Victoria Hospital. It's the only explanation I have for the fact that my mother, 3 brothers, and I rarely get ill, and when we do, it's short and quick. With this in mind, you can imagine that my Covid experience was more of the same, and I turned the corner in scant days, beset by relatively minor complications.
My wife Joyce didn't grow up with me.
When Joyce's infection finally surfaced, it blew in like a hurricane, knocking off her feet for a few days, inflicting her with triple the force of symptoms, and a nagging hack that has hung around for an annoyingly long stretch.
Which leads me to the latest instalment of Porter's Peeves!
With Joyce's symptoms waning at a glacial pace, the inevitable loss of quality sleep began to weigh heavily on her mood, and we agreed that she needed assistance from the local pharmacist to endure. Being on a fixed income, I decided to save a few shekels by shopping at Walmart for the magic elixirs, and was only slightly put off by the lengthy lines at the checkouts. It slowly dawned on me that the reason the lines were ridiculous was due to only 2 being staffed and literal dozens of self-checkouts relatively barren. Normally, I am not shy in my criticism of conglomerates like Walmart's trend toward cutting the chaff by having us give them not only our money, but our energy and time as well, and I avoid self-checkouts like the plague. Alas, today I was in a hurry so I chose the cursed choice. As I was preparing to leave the area, I was stopped by an employee emphatically fulfilling the role of Gandalf the Grey with her grandiose, "You shall not pass" insistence on scouring my chit in what I could only guess was a contemptuous attempt to ensure I had paid for all I had. She obviously took the role seriously, comparing the bill with the few items in my hands with fervour before begrudgingly "allowing" me access to the exit.
Seriously?
It's not enough that we have to pay exorbitant amounts for goods that have risen double digit percentages in the past few months, nor that we are herded into self-checkout lines like so many cattle awaiting the heavy hammer, but now we are treated like "guilty before proven innocent" criminals to ensure that Uncle Sam Walton's family continues to enjoy billions in profits.
Enjoy it Walmart ... you won't enjoy my money for quite a while.
The good news is that despite all of this, Joyce and I are regaining our health and back to almost normal.
