July 16, 2020

 

Bagel with fried cage free egg and American cheese, smoked bacon, sliced potatoes with leeks, two cage free chilled hard boiled eggs, banana muffin, fresh fruit cup, plain Greek yogurt, granola cereal, Tropicana cranberry juice, 2% milk, and assorted condiments.  Good morning…now EAT!

This has gotta stop.  No one is going to recognize me when I get out of quarantine.  Not only am I gaining weight, I had stopped shaving.  Well, not completely.  I do shave my neck area.  I think it looks nasty when the neck area isn’t shaved.  But the odd thing about my beard, or lack of it, is it seems to grow to a certain point, and then stop.

I had a friend, Tim Hopkins.  My son is named after him.  Clay, isn’t that my son?  Yes, but his full name is Clayton Timothy Pierce.  Clayton, for my cousin and aunt in San Francisco that took care of my while I was in school in The City, (that is their last name), and Timothy for my buddy Tim Hopkins. Both he and my son are gingers. Tim and I used to have a contest whenever I would go on travel when I worked in aerospace. The contest was this.  I wouldn't shave the entire time I was gone (except my neck) and he would not shave two days prior to me coming back, and then we would compare beard length.  This was such a stupid contest.  I never won.  Hell, he would win if he shaved the same day I came back.  He had the fastest growing facial hair in the history of time.  No kidding.  When we would get off work and go play in our company basketball league, I would tell him to shave before the game because his beard would cut someone.  It was thick and sharp.  I could not get over how damn fast that facial hair would grow. We lost Tim to suicide a month before my son was born.  I can still see his face though, and I think I continue this little one man beard contest as a way of thanking him for being in my life and being my friend.

Remember that bridge that crosses the lagoon that I mentioned earlier?  Well that bridge is constantly filled with pedestrians that are not being quarantined, at least not in their rooms.  I can’t really tell where the people are coming from or going to, but I do know they are not operating under the same conditions that I am.  I am jealous as hell.  I can’t tell if they are part of our complex, or part of the adjoining complex, where they are staying or where they are headed.  All I know is they are like the hard boiled eggs we get for breakfast, they are cage free!

Because I have not been allowed to explore, I don’t know if they are media like us, or members of any of the NBA teams, or family members of NBA players.  I don’t know.  I haven’t asked questions, or ventured out to solve this mystery. But they are walking in the sunshine, masked up of course, yet walking freely in the Orlando air.  I yearn for the truth, but there is no way in hell that I am going to violate my hibernation because my brain is asking me stupid questions.  Like discussed before, there is too much riding on the experiment.  Heck, I even put on my mask when I open the door to get my meals.  I ain’t taking any chances.

I had to mail a letter that I forgot to mail when I was on the outside.  Well, not a letter but a few extra mortgage payments.  I know, I know, I could have done it on line and I don’t know why I was mailing this one in.  It doesn’t matter, not the point.  Anyway, I called the front desk to have someone pick it up and mail it for me.  They said someone would be at my room shortly, but please have the envelope encased in a plastic bag prior to giving it to the person coming to my room.  No biggie.  I found an unused ice bag and plopped the letter inside, and waited.  There’s a knock on my door, and I answer.  Standing six feet away is a guy dressed head to toe in what looked like a surgical gown.  He had on a face mask, glasses, and a face shield.  He extended his arm and, in his hand was, I kid you not, what looked to be a set of 18 inch tongs. He reached for my bag that contained the envelope, grasped it firmly then deposited it in what I would call a burlap mail bag.  I thanked him, he said nothing, turned away and he was gone.  I felt like I was in a suspense movie where I was handing off volatile nuclear waste or something, before it wreaked havoc and caused the world to end.  This quarantine is no fucking joke.  This shit is serious.  As I closed my door, I was afraid to even look outside for the rest of the day.

But, I had to go get tested again.  On my tiny journey to the test casita, there were a couple of reporters doing stand ups in the grassy area in front of my room.  I had no idea who they were, what station they were reporting for, as they and their crew had on appropriate COVID gear.  The mic flags were indistinguishable, at least for my eyes.  I was too far away to get a clean glimpse and there was no way in hell I was going to swing by to quench my curiosity.  Let me just saunter over to get my test, saunter back, eat dinner, and get back into another seven episodes of “Queen of the South.”  Buenas noches.  I’m killing it, that Spanish stuff!