Would You Like Some Positivity With That Order?

Tonight I went out to be among members of my own species (insert humor here).  I thought a walk through the mall might be refreshing. Since I am not usually subject to fits of this degree of insanity I did not chastise myself too badly for the notion. Once in a while it is good to see new surroundings…Whatever that means.

This particular night it meant that I saw restaurants within the mall shut down before five O’clock. I saw a theater that had been closed (for the second time) as a result of the pandemic. Aside from that, I saw a security guard and a gentleman of perhaps sixty years age.

The security guard was a young man. He was well over six feet tall and wore his uniform as if it had been thrown at him by a blind pitcher with a bad case of shoulder impingement. He walked with slouched shoulders and spoke in a drawn out, moaning sort of mumble.

“Pardon me, sir. May I…” I began.

“Mmmmmaaarrrrgh murfff mmaaaaawwwrrrr murf mawr.”  he cleverly rejoined through his Fort Knox level face protection.

“I’m terribly sorry, I don’t speak mask. I was hoping to find out when P— G—‘s might be seating again?”

Through his masked face I read that he was exhausted by the effort to return an answer of more than one syllable. 

I was about to walk away without an answer when an Emo Phillips-like voice emitted from the discolored face vault he wore.

“I don’t really knoooow. They was good. They Probably ain’t gonna ever do that (sic).” 

“You don’t think they will seat people again?”

“Naaaaw, man, they ain’t got no cure for the COVID. This s— is too dangerous to be having  anybody too close. It’s killing people everywhere. Ain’t nobody really doin’ what they are supposed to do! No, They can’t have nobody in there (sic to my stomach).” he proclaimed with professional certitude.

“I see. So, they aren’t discussing a date for the return to business as usual?”

“I ain’t know (Yes, sic).”

“Okay, well, uh, thank you, sir.”

“Muuurph mawr murph.”

After my enlightening discussion with officer Doogie Howser, I moved to the exit, expecting at any moment to see tumble weeds skipping across the deserted mall-scape and a longhorn skull adorning some lonely corner.

Just then the afore mentioned older gentleman marched through the door and stopped short. He scoped the place like a Titanic passenger looking for a life insurance salesman. 

“Excuse me, sir.” the man said, holding up his hand in the pandemic mask sign language. “Do you know where the S—-y sandwich place is?”

“You are in luck, sir! I do! S—-y is just on the other side of that COVID Concertina wire.” I was referring, of course, to the metal roll down gates that mark any number of vacant and dying storefronts in the United States now.

“Shame.” He said, shaking his head slowly. “Lot of that going on.”

“It is true. The business owners are taking a terrible hit.”

He stood quietly for a moment then continued.

“You know that Italian place across from the corner gas station?” 

“Very well!” I answered enthusiastically. ” I have taken my girlfriend there many times. Great food. Great service. Love it.”

“They closed.” He said flatly.

I sighed and tried to think of a reason to escape this conversation. Maybe I could claim to be late for a Sunday dentist appointment.

“Been there more than thirty years. Such a good, good place.” He moaned and lowered his head. in respect.

I almost reached up to doff my hat and cover my heart.

“I been goin’ there since before I was married…to this wife.” He threw that last bit in free of charge.

“Oh. I’m sorry.” I muttered.

“Yeah, and you know that Mexican place about two miles that way?” 

He gestured toward a diminutive lady in the window of a nail salon, begging anyone to come in and help her make enough to cover lunch. 

“All gone.” He resumed, ” They tried to make it with outside dining only. No good.”

I felt like offering condolences. Instead I offered alternatives.

“You should try that little hole in the wall just up from the hardware store. Great calzones!” I spoke with all the loft left in my proverbial golf swing.

“What? You didn’t hear?”

This last comment roughly equated to hearing someone shout “Incomiiiing!” on a warfront.

“No. Please don’t say…”

“Gone.”

“They were just opening back up…”

“Gone. They were a good joint, too. I took my daughter there for her graduation dinner. I’ll miss that place.”

With a little violin music we would have made one hell of a tear jerker for the silver screen.

“I don’t usually do S—-y.” He said with an odd hesitation in his voice. “These days, we are all dealing with these losses.”

“Er, yeah. Yeah, we are. I mean, I thought these places would open up again. A lot of jobs are sailing away.” I reflected.

“Jobs? I was talking about food.”

I think he was joking. I think.

As he walked away I told him to try the Asian cuisine restaurant within walking distance. He raised his hand in thanks as he walked away, almost as slump shouldered as the security guard.

Thinking about these two conversations, as I left the mall entrance, I found myself comparing them. The young, tall, security guard was certain that nothing would be the same for the foreseeable future. He saw this as the new world we live and survive in. By his calculations, we might soon be gathered in hunting parties searching for the last squirrel carcass on the turnpike. I cannot say that I blame him. Younger minds are typically more malleable when massaged by a skillful, mendacious media. We can all just get used to it. It is here to stay, says the man of such mindset.

Then there was the the restaurant eulogizer. He saw the fallen businesses in his sphere, not so much as lost jobs as lost habits and haunts. His eulogies were reverent, mournful, and as certain as the young security guard. But they were about how he had lost these things. He wasn’t hopeful for the businesses or himself. Both said the same thing. “The past is dead. The glory days are gone.”

Yep. The idea is that the sun has fallen on success and prosperity in the good ol’ U.S. of A. I wonder if this fatalism is bracing people for the tumultuous election year riots to come, keeping their expectations at an emotionally safe knee height, or allowing them to play the sage should the worst happen. Whatever else it is doing it is not inspiring people to stand, take risks, and rebuild with the blood, sweat, and tears that our predecessors spilled throughout the years of this Republic.

As I drove home, I picked up a dose of dyspepsia with a side order of fries from the gilded M. A kid younger than my bald spot spoke in an upbeat rhythm through the drive thru speaker. Happy and professional, he made the feeling of impending diner doom fly away. The equally cheerful lady that handed me my bag of sit-up fodder had me smiling in spite of myself. The greasy bag wasn’t as inviting as any of those great meals that I have enjoyed in the now closed restaurants. However, there are still some places to get grub. There are still places willing to label out triglycerides and monosodium glutamate. We will survive.

Maybe we are facing some tough times. Maybe we will lose some dear institutions. Perhaps we will see the kinds of changes that bring us to a lower level of morale…For a while. Regardless, if we can pull ourselves together, if we can look for the bright shining light in the distance, if we can remove the dark sentiments for a brief moment, we might have the focus and resolve to order up a tasty, all American electoral win this year. Maybe even restart businesses shut down for daring to engage in commerce during a time in which a virus exists on the planet. It is possible.

While you’re ordering up that savory dish get a side order of old world morality. We all need it and it is the only way to enjoy that all American sustenance we miss right now. ‘Til then, Bon apetit and condolences in equal measure, fellow survivors.