The streets are a-flutter with the news. May 11 is the end of lockdown and the start of a gentle “deconfinement” – literally “coming out of lockdown” period. Tuesday night all will be revealed by the President and the Prime Minister as to exactly what that means.
From the little snippets released to press it’s going to be compulsory masks on public transport, people still need to work from home as much as possible, children are allowed back at school unless their parents don’t want them to and some businesses will be allowed to re-open.
There’s also talk about not being able to travel, particularly if you are in a severely affected region like mine and want to travel or pass through a less severely affected region. Exactly what that looks like no one knows. It’s been nearly two months since I last saw my other half and I have no idea when we’re going to be able to see each other again.
No restaurants or cafes yet. Which in some ways is a good thing judging from my experience this evening. Takeaway stores have been allowed to remain open (somehow it seems their finger-smeared counters are immune to COVID). Most have shut in my village, but I jumped for joy when earlier this week I discovered one lone sushi/thai place was open. All week I looked forward to a little treat of sushi and dumplings (funny what you miss) for my Friday night.
Until that is, I went in.
I ordered, then noted the complete lack of any protective gear on the staff. Unlike the supermarkets where staff are dressed as surgeons and have now erected large plastic screens between the checkout staff and customers, these guys had zip. Nada. Not a hand sanitiser bottle in sight. No sans contact (paywave) either, I noted as I punched in my pin number, wondering just exactly how many virus-infested hands had completed this very act before me.
I, on the other hand, have spent the last couple of weeks doing COVID training sessions including how to put on, wear, and take off a mask correctly. This procedure has involved cleaning my hands three times each session with what appears to be some kind of hydrochloric acid-based hand sanitiser judging by the lack of skin on my hands. I’ve been explaining the virtues of the 2m rule, how many times a day the workplace is disinfected, the perils of gloves, and how it’s not a good idea to say Bonjour by bumping elbows.
But here, no posters, no scotch on the floor to mark one metre distances and, from the look of the table, no frequent disinfecting of the premises. Perhaps I’m just spoilt at work, I don’t know.
The mask-less guy smiled and thanked me as he stood within one metre of me to hand me my receipt. I got home and took more skin off my hands with a thorough soap-washing before settling in to eat, trying to touch as little as possible of the packaging directly with my hands.
Oh well, I can always drink disinfectant.
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