In search of answers and a better-informed reaction to the all the madness surrounding the advent of the Corona Virus, or “Rona,” as the kids like to call it, I ventured out from my government-imposed quarantine and, dressed in my best downtown cammies (tan jeans, t-shirt, and a waist-length pea coat) made my way to the Seer who, by all accounts, had sufficient knowledge and wisdom to give me the answers I wasn’t getting from the evening news. Following the crude map drawn for me by the guy who lives in 3A, I was careful to avoid the authorities, lest I stumble into a group of ten or more human beings, or run afoul of any of the new “laws” being created almost daily in the offices of those with the (dubious) power to do so.
Though crude, the map was accurate, and before long I arrived at the Seer’s compound, an area ingeniously disguised as a tent-city nestled under the highway overpass. Sauntering toward the edge of the circle, I could see the Seer holding court with other supplicants like myself and, despite the annoying sound of wheeled vehicles passing overhead, I was soon close enough to hear the Seer answering questions from those sitting before him. So, with as little disturbance as possible, I took my place among them, claiming a spot amongst the weeds, pebbles and broken glass that constituted the front lawn of his worn and faded Coleman dwelling. I nestled in just as he was finishing the answer to what I was sure must have been a profound query.
“…and that’s how we know that man has NEVER walked on the moon.”
Basking in the glow of the generous applause produced by his acolytes, the Seer graciously accepted the questioner’s offering of a half-empty bottle of Seagrams Gin. Seeing the offering, I kicked myself for not having brought anything more substantial than a fistful of singles and some spare change, and hoped it would be sufficient. Soon thereafter, to my delight, I was addressed directly by the Seer.
“Hey, you. New guy. You got anything for me?”
I was nervous, feeling completely out of my element. “Do you mean, like, a question?”
The Seer sighed heavily. “Yeah, right, a question.”
The surrounding faithful beamed at me with something just short of envy. Perhaps this sort of thing had never happened before.
“Um, well, yessir. I mean, yes, Seer. I’m looking for answers. I need to know more about the ‘Rona.”
The crowd gasped at the utterance while the Seer fixed his blurry gaze upon me, dirty beard twitching ever-so-slightly from side to side, sizing me up as if I were a medium-rare filet mignon, fallen from the sky, or perhaps the overpass.
“You are not the first to look for answers on that subject, buddy. And you can call me Jeremy.”
The crowd gasped again. Unbeknownst to me, until that moment the Seer had never uttered his given name.
“Um, okay, Mr. Seer. I mean Jeremy. Thanks.” All eyes were upon me. It gave me the willies.
“Go ahead and ask your question, buddy.” The Seer took a swig of the gin.
I took a deep breath to gather myself. “Well, I guess the first thing I want to know is why we’re shutting everything down for something that doesn’t seem to have a very high mortality rate.”
A whisper began working through the circle. “Mortality rate…mortality rate…mortality rate.” When the whispering stopped the Seer spoke.
“You see, we must shut things down, buddy, or else we’ll run out of hospital beds for the really sick ones.” The Seer’s answer was again greeted with applause, but I persisted.
“Well, I don’t want to sound ignorant, but couldn’t we just take a few billion dollars and build some makeshift hospitals? You know, use some hotels or schools or something like that? I mean, wouldn’t that make more sense than a $2 trillion stimulus package full of money for people and businesses that the government has purposely destroyed?”
The Seer appeared to be pondering my follow up question as the crowd whispered, “Ignorant…ignorant…ignorant.”
“Hmmm… Here’s the thing, buddy, if that were such a good idea, someone would have thought of it already. Get it? You’re not smarter than the government, man.”
More applause. I persisted still.
“Maybe, but how does it make sense to put so many people out of work, and then basically put them on welfare? Won’t the government eventually run out of money?”
At this the Seer pointed at me and laughed from his belly, like Santa Claus. Taking their cue from Jeremy, the other adherents pointed at me and laughed as well.
“Don’t be stupid, man. The government NEVER runs out of money. It’s the GOVERNMENT man! And nobody’s gonna get hurt by being out of work. It’s fun! While people are on welfare, they can write books and remodel their bathrooms. It works out for everybody. Just look at me. Do I look unhappy?”
The Seer had a point, even if he, personally, didn’t appear to have a bathroom to remodel. It dawned on me that the Seer must be a fan of Keynesian economics. I, on the other hand, am more aligned with the Chicago school. That being the case, I knew we were never going to see eye-to-eye on Jeremy’s theories about deficit spending. Still, I had just enough time before curfew to ask one more question.
“Last question, Mr. Seer. Aren’t we all going to get the ‘Rona’ anyway? Aren’t we just delaying the inevitable?”
At my continued ignorance the Seer again let out a heavy sigh. “Of course we are, buddy, but don’t you get it? We have to flatten the curve.”
And that was it. Feeling underwhelmed and disappointed, I handed over the $8.32 I had in my pocket and walked out of the Seer’s compound to the whispered chant of “flatten the curve…flatten the curve…flatten the curve.” I felt no better than I had before meeting Jeremy and there were no open bars in which to drown my sorrows. So, by the time I arrived home, I had decided to take advantage of the Seer’s advice, and started planning the bathroom remodel. The first thing I had to do was find remodelers who weren’t on lock down.
