I watched with interest as the bartender at the Drury Inn off Interstate 44 in Missouri sliced the lime for my gin and tonic with his bare hands, then dropped the slice into my drink.
Breaking news on the overhead TV announced Missouri's first coronavirus case involving a person who had taken an Amtrak train from Chicago to St. Louis. No one was paying much attention. Not when you can get three free drinks and all the food you can eat from 5:30 to 7 p.m., at what Drury calls its "Kickback" interlude. So, why get negative when you can get soused?
Then there were the snacks with one large serving spoon each for the salad, the chips, the salsa, the black beans, the hot dogs, etc. I availed myself to the free grub. Were those spoons regularly switched out for fresh, untouched spoons? Not on my watch at least.
And, in case you are wondering, yes, I did drink my gin and tonic. I reasoned the alcohol would kill off any germs. I didn't really know for sure, but I did observe that the drink was skimpy on the gin.
Earlier I had threaded my way among thousands of patrons at the Saint Louis Art Museum. You had to touch the brass handles of the heavy entrance doors to get in. Among the stunning collection, apropos to everything happening at the moment _ from President Trump's ham-handed handling of the health crisis to the depleting of my retirement account as the markets crashed _ was Rodin's 1890 marble "Despair." I realized the man curled up in a fetal position with his head covered by his arms summed up my current state of mind.
I brushed up against a multitude of unmasked humans, numerous door handles and, as I browsed the gift shop, I picked up and examined books and trinkets that other browsers had also touched. All this contact with the great human petri dish had me screwed six ways from Sunday, as we say out here.
Did I Purell after each and every touch? How could I? I did my best to take advantage of the few bottles that were available to the public, but it was impossible to avoid coming in contact and repelling every single microbe.
As I contemplated my own despair, I could detect a tickle in the back of my throat. Uh oh. Was I getting sick? Was it the dreaded virus? Was there even a test available?
Nonetheless, I pushed on to Arkansas, where, at the time, there were no active cases of coronavirus. In Bentonville, at the Walmart Museum, one of the overly solicitous docents groused that he wished the damn media would stop overhyping the dangers of the coronavirus. He also mentioned a bomb scare at the nearby courthouse just a half-hour before I arrived. "These are the times we live in," he sighed. He then handed me a booklet on Sam Walton's business acumen. (It did not include how Walmart has hammered smaller brick-and-mortar retailers and how it famously underpays its "associates.")
Many of the hagiographical displays regarding Walton involved touching a screen. There was a lot of touching and swiping going on that morning, but not much swabbing and sterilizing that I could see.
Because of new health measures recently installed at Starbucks, my reusable cup was rebuffed. However, the clerk gladly accepted my Starbucks card with her bare hands. I probably had not washed my hands in the last two hours. I assume she had, but when? I put the card back in my wallet, sipped my coffee and walked back to the car.
At the Holler in Bentonville, "a local hangout," that features shuffleboard courts, I was confused as to how to order any food. I was directed to use a touchpad screen. I poked and swiped at the screen several times until I successfully ordered the Holler Chicken Salad. I received a text when my salad was ready. Did I wash or use Purell after ordering? I did not. Did I touch my face? I most certainly did. More than once.
On the long drive back to my Illinois home I stopped for gas and a bathroom break in western Missouri at the fast-food gas station unfortunately named "Kum & Go." As I was washing my hands in the sink and humming "Happy Birthday," a trucker rushed in and did his business at the urinal. Then, to my amazement, he left without stopping at the sink. I dried my hands and stood by the bathroom door waiting for someone to open it from the outside so I did not have to touch the contaminated handle. Yet, by that point in the trip, after all my many missteps, I doubt it really mattered.
