Being a good citizen...social distancing edition

Earlier this week, I was texting with a friend about going to the grocery for a regular shopping trip. This was the day after I found out I'd be working from home for at least the next two weeks. I hadn't done my regular shopping yet; I usually go on Thursday at lunchtime if I work from home my one day per week or Sunday morning. I decided to go Thursday since I was home, and lunchtime grocery shopping is always a calmer experience. My friend said something that would be the equivalent of "may the odds be every in your favor," and I reminded her that I grocery shopped in a post-Katrina New Orleans.

I bring up my experience in a post-K New Orleans because this entire week has reminded me of that time in my life way more than I expected. When I returned to New Orleans in November 2006, several months after Katrina, New Orleans was obviously a very different place. Most people had not/could not return. Those who were back were putting together the new normal in a place where trash piles seemed to grew exponentially, mail service was iffy, and you never knew what weird thing was going to happen next. We had a month to get ready for students to return to the university, so I threw myself into work. We went out, but observed curfew. We got used to crowded everywhere because so few things were open. We celebrated when a store or restaurant or cafe reopened. We continually took stock of who was back and who wasn't planning on coming back. Crime, always a problem in New Orleans, seemed to be worse, then better then worse again. Small things, like going to the store or getting gas, took twice as long as they did before.

One spring day, I went to the store on my way home from work. I planned to go to the Winn-Dixie on Tchoupitoulas, get a few things and then head home. If I could get half of the things on my list, I'd consider it a good trip. The parking lot was crowded...not a good sign. I walked into the store, saw the lines, heard the voices, and walked right back out. I couldn't bring myself to walk around a store that crowded, with people who were annoyed and cranky. I drove a few blocks to the Sav-a-Center just in case it was less crowded. The parking lot wasn't as full, but it was the same inside. I was so close to having a panic attack in the produce section until a lady said to me, "Honey, it's going to be okay. Go get what you need to get." She patted me on the shoulder and continued on with her shopping. My panic diminished, and I finished my shopping trip. I went home, made dinner and fed Pumpkin. I repeated this process many more times before I decided to move to Virginia. It was a long nine months.

Obviously, a post-Katrina New Orleans and a global pandemic are two completely different events, but I can't help but look at one to help me navigate through another. In the past few days, my life has become eerily similar to my life in post-Katrina New Orleans:  I've created several contingency plans for work, and talked to my team about managing a full work from home life. I spend a lot of time considering whether I should go somewhere, even if it's just to my parents' house. I've evaluated what I have at home, and was delighted/shocked when I found three containers of bleach wipes under my guest bathroom sink. I bought them when I moved in, and totally forgot that's where I stored them. I've made a list of projects and things I need to do around the house to fill the time I won't be going out. As more of an introverted person, I'm used to spending long stretches of time alone, BUT I've also had going to work as a counter. It's an adjustment to not to go into the office. I'm fortunate enough to have a job that can be done remotely, but I know the next few weeks will be hard because of the quiet.

Curfews were used in New Orleans to help maintain order and control what can be an incredibly chaotic place. I remember leaving a concert at Tipitina's at midnight. No one ever leaves a concert in New Orleans before 2 am. It was weird, but we did our part as good citizens to make living in the city "easy," whatever that meant at the time. Social distancing isn't exactly the same thing, but it's what will help us contain the coronavirus, or at least deal with what's about to happen in a scale that might be manageable. It's hard to deal with the closures and cancellations, but at the end of the day, it will help keep more people from getting sick. It won't stop people from getting sick, but the less we're out and about, especially around people we don't know, the less likely we'll be to bring the virus home or to work.

I understand some people's reaction to everything as an overreaction. It's hard to fully understand something when it hasn't impacted you directly or you're the type of person who believes the media is making this out to be a bigger deal than it is. Yes, we are sensationalizing a lot of what's going on. News outlets need to think very carefully about showing images of long lines outside places like Costco and gun shops, while still reporting what's happening. Shocker: you can do both. I unfollowed a jewelry artist I like yesterday because she was mad that the city of Richmond, VA canceled a craft show this weekend. I get it, that's how she makes her money, but she went about the entire situation in the wrong way, spouting Fox News tidbits and ranting about government involvement in her livelihood. I couldn't help but think "maybe you should have an online store" and "please read something with actual facts in it" before clicking unfollow. At a time when all I want to do is support people like her, her comments and actions made me do the exact opposite. The things she said might actually harm someone. Reality doesn't seem to exist for this person.

The reality is people are getting sick. We don't have structures in place to test people and to care for them on the scale that could be around right the corner. I can't blame the 45 for the actual coronavirus, but I can blame him and his administration and the GOP leadership for what's happening now. They care more about being wealthy and staying wealthy. So many of the things we're dealing with now reveal what a messed up place we live in.

But we do have each other, as long as it's from a distance of 6-10 feet away or over Skype. Maybe this time of social distancing will teach us something about slowing down, being intentional, prioritizing. Maybe we can be like Italian neighbors singing from their balconies to keep the joy in what is a terrible, heartbreaking situation. What I do know is that being a good citizen sometimes means staying at home.

Until November 3, 2020. And then we vote.

Next week on the Island: Keely's Guide to Staying Inside. He's very good at being an indoor kid. 

Admissions Counselor Blues

NOTE: I'm attending the annual NACAC (National Association for College Admission Counseling) conference this week. I'll be seeing many of my admissions counselor and school counselor friends so I thought I'd reflect on a time when I was of that world more specifically. I originally wrote this for a project that a few friends were working on focused on stories of the storm but it never got off the ground and this ended up in a notebook in a box in my closet. I found that notebook when I moved to Arlington and have been revising some of the work. I hope you enjoy it. We'll be back to our regularly scheduled Island musings this weekend.

March 14, 2006

            Banner. Nametag. Rolling bag. Prospect card. I have never thought I’d have a profession that was at once so identifiable while being so anonymous. If you were to pass me in an airport you would think that I’m just another member of the traveling business class with my rolling bag and permanent cup of coffee. If you followed me to my rental car you would see a standard, non-descript colorless (is beige really a color?) mid-size, two door car. Probably a Dodge Stratus or a Chevy Malibu. Follow me on to my hotel and you’d find me at a Marriott or Courtyard or whatever by Marriott. I’m a Marriott girl (at least for now). No fancy suite, just your average room, hopefully there’s wifi and a king would awesome. I like to sleep in the center; it’s like sleeping on an island. 

            If you were to continue with me over the course of the evening you would see a fairly typical life of a person who travels mainly for work. I like to order room service and watch cable (I have neither at home). I like my hotel room cold. I try to neaten things for the cleaning staff. Up to this point, I’m traveler Jane in a sea of traveler Janes. Nothing special or unique.

            If you followed me after my Starbucks run the next morning you would soon see the traveler Jane persona fade away. I have a banner and a nametag. I have a table to set up and I’d prefer a rectangle. Circular tables and my banner don’t get along.

            I am the face of my university. I am my banner and my nametag. A roller bag accompanies me everywhere. I am on a quest for a fully completed prospect card and the mythical oboe player from South Dakota. I am an admissions counselor! I help shape the university classes of the future. I have begun to take my job a bit less seriously.

            Admissions counseling seems like a subculture in higher education.We’re the black sheeps of the university family. No matter what, we will never be good enough for the rest of the family. I’m hoping someone will research this phenomenon one day. Maybe it can be their dissertation. We have our own language and gestures and rituals. There are hierarchies and hierarchies within hierarchies. There are lifers and the rotating masses of 20 somethings in their first job. When I first started I described the job (the road part at least) as being a lot like high school only with slightly more money and way more alcohol.

            What happens when that identity is removed? During my first travel season I wondered that all the time. We had been trained that forgetting any of the items for our table would be considered a huge sin and we would be reprimanded upon our return to the office. My ODC constantly kicked into high gear every time I packed to travel. I checked for my badge and banner at least twenty times before leaving. Yes, I have a compulsion. That’s the way it goes.

            As I finalized my travel for my second fall season I was a bit more relaxed. I knew that nothing too horrible would happen to me if I forgot my nametag and prospect cards are easy to photocopy. I had a new rolling bag this time around and it wasn’t as heavy as my parents’ Corgi (without the materials). My trips were, in my opinion, better planned and a more efficient use of my time. I was determined not to get lost. I left work on August 26^th with all my trips booked and ready to go.

            Friday night was nothing special. I had errands to run over the weekend but no plans to evacuate as of Friday afternoon. I woke up on Saturday and a lot had changed. I ran my errands, packed up my bag, the cat and headed to Birmingham. I threw in my day planner (awesome). We thought we’d be home by Wednesday.

            Pretty soon we realized that we would not be home on Wednesday. My friend and I made our ways to our parents’ houses to figure out what next. By the time I got to DC, I got the call “Buy some suits, you’re doing all your trips.” I spent the next three days frantically rearranging flights, buying clothes and photocopying prospect cards (see?).  I would head out on my first trip once week after the levees broke. My on the road identity became something I really never wanted it to be: hurricane college.

            The biggest issue with being “hurricane college” is that there is no way to stop people from thinking that ever. No matter what you tell someone, they will not believe you. I tried my hardest to clarify and explain but images on CNN speak a whole lot louder than words.

            For the first two days of my first trip to Omaha, NE for Catholic Colleges Week, I had a maroon tablecloth, photocopied prospect cards and college fair flyers and nothing else. Compared to my colleagues I was plain, no frills, not that interesting. They had nametags and pretty banners and fun photos of their campuses and students. I had horrible images in a 24/7 news cycle and a sad computer generated sign. The staff at one of the local universities had to photocopy the one business card I had for a counselor breakfast (thank God my mom always has one of my cards at home). The whole thing made me feel very out of control. I just wanted to go home (and I mean home to New Orleans).

            I thought things would get better when I got my “banner” (a plastic temporary version) but I only got yelled at by seventeen year olds and became a bit of a target. Whoever said Midwesterners were all nice has never been to Omaha following a catastrophic hurricane.

            As I continued to travel that fall I became even more aware of the trappings of the admissions industry. I liked not having so much stuff (viewbooks, junior pieces, etc.) but missed the reliance on the pictures. I started to hate my colleagues; they didn’t have any hard questions to answer like me. While they answered questions on GPA and scores, I had to answer questions like “Is you school even there?” or “Do you offer a major in scuba?” People are not particularly sympathetic or sensitive to events like these. Basically, people suck.

            It doesn’t seem to matter how much times passes; we will always be “hurricane college.” We can rebuild our city and not have another storm for a 100 years but the label will still be there. It doesn’t matter if I have my nametag and banner, I’ll still be identified that way. Not as traveler Jane, not as an admissions professional—just as hurricane college. People will never realize the pain and the hurt and how awful and hurtful their comments and “jokes” were. They don’t really know what it means to miss their home like I did. And I hope they never do. They will never have the desire to punch a 17 year boy in the face for asking if everyone in my city was dead and then laughing about it. Again, I hope they never feel that way. I guess I rather be traveler Jane, anonymous and plain, then hurricane college any day.