I used to joke that I’ve been preparing for this pandemic my whole life. Although that was probably funnier back in March.
After 22 weeks at home, things have gotten a little weird.
Self-isolation was a perfect fit for me at the start. I am a natural introvert. I have an out of state boyfriend & no kids. I work from home. I love my apartment. Netflix welcomes me every time I spin up The West Wing for the millionth time. I’m even able to entertain myself without ever feeling lonely (because only child).
I thought staying at home for a while would be a piece of cake.
That’s my excuse for what happened.
My 805 sq foot apartment sits on the 5th floor of a modern building just north of Washington, DC. While I’ve run down to the lobby for quick package pickups and the occasional puppy belly rub, I have stayed inside since March 4th because I’m immunocompromised and high risk.
For 22 weeks, I’ve been working, Zooming, podcast recording, binge watching, (trying to) sleep, ordering contact-less grocery delivery and supporting local businesses (i.e. getting take out). Then one day I tried something new: spending the day “outside” on my cute little balcony.
Enter the spies across the street.
Truth be told, there’s been a ton of weird shit on those balconies over the years. Like the grandmother who dumped a whole baby pool of water from the 9th floor. And a blue kayak on the 11th that sat untouched until it disappeared suddenly one winter. Oh and let’s not forget the guy getting his steps in on the 17th floor while smoking a pack of Marlboro lights.
But nothing beats this story.
A few weeks back, I noticed a woman working on a laptop at a small table on her 6th floor balcony. Ooooh. A cross-street WFH buddy. How urban. Maybe I’d wave. #makingfriends
Then the next day, she was at the same spot. And the next. And the next.
She barely moved and never spoke. Occasionally a male partner would show up with his computer, but never stay long. There was even a little dog out there once. I began to think the DC heat was making me hallucinate.
Obsessed, I checked their balcony at all hours. 9:30am, she was there. 2:12pm, there. 1:07am, still there. Weekday. Weekend. In the dark. In the rain. In the 100 degree heat. It didn’t seem to matter. She was always out there, her unemotional face lit by the ghostly glare from her screen.
What the ever living fuck.
People had thoughts on Facebook:
- She was stealing Wifi
- She was southern and “pandemic porch sitting”
- She needed a break from quarantining with her partner
- She was hacking Twitter
- She was an alien wearing a human suit
- She was watching porn
- She farted a lot
After telling my boyfriend all this, we came up with another story.
Two former spies working as husband and wife are trying to get back in good graces with Russian intelligence after botching a serious mission in 2015. They are undercover, monitoring and reporting the activities of two suspected counter-operatives that live across the street in my building. If they fail, it’s back to running fake ad campaigns from the Ukraine. And the dog is a time-traveler.
Who doesn’t love The Americans, mixed with a little Rear Window, mixed with weird-ass DC tradecraft, mixed with the 2016 election. Yeah — SPIES! That’s it. #omgIneedahobby
Shy of getting binoculars, a drone or making a poster to introduce myself, I don’t really know what’s going on over there because I HAVEN’T LEFT MY BUILDING IN 22 WEEKS.
Um, I mean I’m here and they’re over there.
So after all this time in self-isolation, I do what anyone would: Make up stories about them. Like “It’s Summertime and the bots are easy”, “Undercover Boss: WFH edition”, “Shall we play a game?”, and a personal favorite, “My name is Evelyn Salt.”
I hope when the cops come for me, I can blame the pandemic for this.
Spy games or not, it’s going to be a while before I feel safe enough to go out there among The English so here are a few other pandemic discoveries:
- My business mullet (cool top/PJ bottom) wardrobe has expanded nicely
- The sparkly zero-g dinosaur that made its debut on the SpaceX launch (a gift from a childhood friend) makes a great quarantine gossip buddy
- Did you know you can read real books? Like, with pages that flip and everything?
- My 82 year old dad FaceTimes me daily and I love it
- Makeup is optional but showers are not
- 80’s music is the cure for almost everything
- Weekly Zoom happy hours reconnected me with old friends in ways I never expected
- It also takes me very little to get drunk on a Zoom happy hour
- I never ever ever ever considered making a sourdough starter
- It’s pretty easy to turn off cable news
- It’s totally ok to let yourself feel whatever you need to feel, whenever you need to feel it
- There are some exceptional humans out there who can restore your waning faith in humanity
- And HAMILTON
On a more serious note, I know how privileged I am to be able to self isolate for this long, and even into the future. My heart breaks for everyone struggling with illness, economic uncertainly, the fate of the upcoming school year & the intense anxiety that is inextricably linked with this time and this world.
So I leave you with a single hope: find some small silver lining in all of this—even if it means your own quarantine spies— and I’ll see you on the other side.
Because I promise there will be one.
