The Times did some funny articles today on books on pandemics and etiquette for coronavirus, here is one for you
One of the most troubling things about the imminent possibility of pandemic is trying to work out exactly what the etiquette is. How should you behave when, at any given moment, the world could transform into a coughing, deadly dystopia?
It’s a tricky one. On the one hand, you don’t want to become a hysterical coronavirus superfan, one of those people who talk about tinned goods, survival probabilities and their new Thomas Malthus tattoo. Not only does it make others instinctively wary of you, it’s also potentially embarrassing. Because when the pandemic never comes, you still have to live with the fact that you had already decided which of your children you would harvest for meat. You’d made a spreadsheet and everything.
But on the other hand, you don’t want to live in denial. Or, even worse, reject scientific and medical consensus. You don’t want to be your dad’s mate on Facebook who goes on about how the whole thing is a “just a scam”, that the World Health Organization is in the pocket of Big Tinned Tuna, and who has taken to posting photos of himself licking pavements in Wuhan while giving a big thumbs-up. Of course you don’t want to be that guy.
So, how do you play it? How do you make it through this moment in history a) alive, but b) more importantly, without looking or feeling stupid? The good news is, I’ve been thinking about this a lot. For example ...
STOCKPILING Obviously, this is for survivalist weirdos and you want no part of it. But then, when you’re doing your Ocado order, a little voice in the back of your head says, “Would it really be so weird to order an extra … I dunno … ten tins of beans? Twenty? Fifty? Seven thousand?” So you keep clicking “Add to basket” until your mouse breaks and then you tell your partner, in a casual way, that you’ve ordered “a few extra bits and bobs”. Later, when the weary-looking supermarket delivery guy arrives and glares at you, just tell him your kids really love beans. If he asks how many kids you actually have, say, “About ... 50?”
PUBLIC TRANSPORT There’s nothing more callous than seeing someone with a sniffle – particularly if they are from overseas, shivering and delirious – being treated like a leper on the Tube. I mean, yes, I want to live. But I also want to be able to live with myself. So, in solidarity, I’ve taken to standing as close to these people as possible while smiling and maintaining eye contact, just to show that I do not fear them. What they then do is move as far away from me as possible. Which is also fine.
FACE MASKS Ultimately, you have to follow your heart on this one. Yes, you look ridiculous, but then equally, it’s not like “being dead” is the hot look of spring/summer 2020 either. I like the fact these masks exist, because men have to shave their beards in order to make them effective. I’ve never been able to grow a beard, which is really embarrassing, but at least I’ve got an excuse now.
JOKES Please don’t make jokes about it. It’s not just that it’s in poor taste; it’s that there is literally only one joke. “You know what? I wouldn’t mind a few weeks in isolation myself, hahahaha!” Just admit that you’re trapped in a loveless marriage, feel lost and empty and, deep down, are terrified of existence.
PERSONAL HYGIENE You have to keep on top of this. But then, as an adult, you kind of need to keep on top of this anyway. You’ve got to be very suspicious of those po-faced friends and colleagues who make a big point of how, now there’s a potential pandemic on the way, you really have to make sure to wash your hands after going to the toilet, etc. Makes you wonder. Fortunately, because I have small children who enjoy playing Dog Dirt Dodgeball, I generally have little bottles of hand sanitiser stashed about my person in the same way an alcoholic has miniatures of vodka. Easy.
HOLIDAYS This is the crunch. Do you cancel your summer holiday for the greater good? Or cross the picket line, escorted to Heathrow by the South Yorkshire police, before walking through departures with your jacket over your head while the rest of us jeer? A nice compromise is simply to let people think that you had booked a luxury holiday in some pretty north Italian coronavirus village, but that you have cancelled it at great expense. This lets people think you are both well off and magnanimous, neither of which is true.
OBSESSING OVER MAPS Under normal circumstances, I find nothing more fulfilling than staring at online maps for hours on end. But right now, you absolutely have to resist the temptation to log on to one of those websites that charts the geographical spread of coronavirus in real time. I mean … just sitting there, irritable and paranoid, while watching as a red tide sweeps across Europe? It was a bad look for Adolf in the Fuhrerbunker, and it’s a bad look for you. Especially in the office.