A Little COVID with my Pizza
April 9, 2020
We know the Pizza Factory in Lockerford, CA, well by now. They make their crusts thin and crispy, their toppings copious. On our way to Kirkwood, we call them just before getting on to Highway 88. We order more than we can eat; save the rest for the days ahead. The ritual has become predictable and comforting.
This time, we placed the usual order, and went in to pick it up. On the door, a sign asked for social distancing. We pulled up our masks. The usual cashier stood at the register. Over the years, we have come to recognize him — a young man, a few tattoos, kind eyes, a full-lipped smile. I saw the smile this time too. He was mask-less. So was the cook, and several of the customers.
Now the virus felt like an elephant in the room. It had to be addressed. But asking him to put on a mask felt aggressive. But to stay quiet felt vaguely irresponsible, as if we were choosing to be bystanders instead of upstanders.
I decided to say something.
“Got your vaccination yet?” I asked.
“I won’t do that,” he mumbled. I didn’t know if he doubted the virus or the vaccine. I went with the former.
“Dude, half a million Americans are dead. It’s real,” I said.
