Day 4: California Under Martial Law Lite (Moon Over Marin)

Yesterday, Sunday, was eye opening. Up until that point I thought this shelter in-place order would ensure I could edit my latest Sinful Cinema book, work on my next novel, watch a movie or five, and read copious amounts of books. Instead, I found myself spending my early afternoon at Target of all places. If I get coronavirus, I got it there.

I've been avoiding stores as much as humanly possible. But one has to eat. One also has to drain clogged sinks, which is why I was at Target. I had my own bag with me and hand sanitizer for those moments when I needed it. I would have been better off with a gun. The Target in Eureka, CA is under reconstruction in order to make the store more visually appealing, so it looks odd from the moment you step in. If they really wanted to make the store appealing, however, they would kick out most of the shoppers.

While WinCo is regulating how many people go into the store at once, Target is letting capitalism and consumerism go at its normal society-dooming pace.  Luckily, despite Target's ignorance, the store was far less crowded than it would be on a normal Sunday afternoon. But what I saw sent chills down my spine.

A side note: many of you know I write horror stories. I usually write about people doing bad things. I tend not to write apocalyptic horror. There are enough people doing that, and doing it quite well, thank you. But after witnessing the folks in Target, I am starting to rethink my stance on the genre. Maybe I should delve into it. It is easy enough to see how the end begins, after all.

When there's no room left in Hell . . . the diseased shop at Target.

People were not following the social distancing guidelines set forth by people much smarter than themselves. They would get right up next to you because they could not wait a few moments to grab a sponge. I witnessed a Target employee sneeze into his elbow and then go right back to stocking food. A young boy made an effort to cough into his elbow, but it was really a half-hearted attempt. His mother just rolled her eyes. Kids, right? Then there was . . . the lady.

She was shambling down the wide aisle toward me. She was wearing grey sweatpants and a grey sweatshirt with a football team logo on it. She looked like she had just rolled out of bed. Hair askew. Makeup smudged. As she neared me, she coughed. Into the air. No attempt to cover it.

"Cover up," I growled.

She whipped right around and said, "You can't tell me what to do."

A Target employee was watching this exchange. Had she not been watching, I would have dropped the lady on the spot. Doing her in before Covid-19 could do it for me.

The world ends with an uncovered cough. It spreads through creatures like this one, and the fools who flooded the beaches at Spring Break. It ravishes communities because one person couldn't be bothered to cough properly. On this, day four of the siege, I can't help but look out my window and see the empty streets under the grey clouds and think, "How many of these houses will end up vacant?" My guess is far more than should be.