Like so many aspects of American life lately, the Coronavirus outbreak exists in the fuzzy quantum state of either being a prelude to societal collapse or a terrible strain of the flu.
Reports about the sickness are unclear. Thousands have died globally, but important statistics like age or preexisting conditions are missing or under-discussed. The stock market is tanking. People are buying face masks in droves.
And still, we sit at home and go through the motions, maybe worried about a recent cold, but not so worried that it's time to board up the windows and buy up emergency water rations.
And it hits us at a time when information itself is under attack from the virus of distrust. The President is lying; the media is lying; doctors are lying. Random websites mix reports and hearsay, spit out incoherent information and spread it through social media.
Entire cities in China were shut off from the rest of the world. A cruise ship was quarantined just off the coast. The Iranian vice president is sick days after the country denies there is a major problem. The pope has a mysterious cold. Airline flights are canceled and stopped at the gate. Experts argue about what could happen.
Coughing in public seems so much more noticeable now. Every public space seems both risky and mundane. Maybe give a person in the grocery store aisle a few feet of space.
Every bad end of the world movie starts like this. Somebody watching a newscast with the anchor imploring us not to panic or to shelter indoors. The camera pans outside, and you see a car being flipped over, a plane crashing, a man committing suicide.
We look outside our windows now, and we see everyday life. Nothing has changed. Hopefully, nothing will.
