DATING ODYSSEY, 2021

It’s enough to get myself psyched up for a coffee date in the best of times. I’m way past the age of feeling jitters. Hope doesn’t pop up much anymore either. The self-talk before heading out is, Just be open. Truly, I try.

 

Most of the time, the guy is decent enough. Sitting down to coffee with a stranger is harmless. It’s often no more exciting than a stilted job interview but, fortunately, I’ve always liked job interviews. Weird, I know. Still, it helps keep me resilient after a string of dud dates.

 

The score since COVID is 0-4. I’ve met four guys in the past six weeks or so. Nothing memorable, nothing to build on. That’s not unusual. What is hard to adjust to is how these coffee dates are different due to the coronavirus. I’m really not liking the new parameters.

 

All four dates have taken place outdoors. I’ve been super careful throughout COVID and I’m not about to not put myself in risky situations. I have my inconsistencies, as I think is the case with most of us, but I’m far more cautious than anyone in my family and most people I know. While I’ve had both vaccine shots and my physical health is great, I wonder about possible long-term issues that may come from getting the virus, even in a mild form. Sitting in a café with a dozen or more unmasked strangers seems totally unnecessary.

 

Outdoor meet-and-greets would have been better in the middle of summer, but it took me months after getting double-vaxxed to muster up the motivation to dive back into online dating. Hello, autumn. This being Vancouver, the rainy season tends to extend through the calendar seasons of fall and winter. Yes, this is just the beginning…

 

Two of the four dates have been all wet, one in pouring rain, the other only in steady rain. Yeesh. It’s hard to make your best impression in raincoats and boots. Who are you under that glorified garbage bag? One poor chap showed up in leather shoes that weren’t weather-appropriate. “Are you sure you want to go for a walk?” I asked. Yes, yes. Very well—not your Mom. It was a go-nowhere date and I have no doubt he drove home cursing and muttering, “I ruined my shoes for that?!”

 

Yes, so sorry. Next time, listen to your mother.

 

My next coffee date was another soggy encounter. I trekked a half hour each way in the rain to meet Jorge, a sweet man from Mexico City. He showed up without an umbrella, the hoodie of his jacket covering even more of his appearance. We stood under an awning, a welcome dry spot where we could figure out how to proceed. Jorge proposed grabbing a drink on a sheltered, heated patio at a nearby pub. As it turned out, we couldn’t go because Jorge had not been vaccinated. (In British Columbia, you have to show proof of vaccination to access non-essential indoor settings.) 

 

“I’m sorry, so sorry,” he said. He showed me an appointment card he’d gotten earlier that day to get his first shot. He explained he’s been holed up in his apartment throughout the pandemic, contemplating life and reflecting on himself. The implication was that he hadn’t stepped out at all. 

 

That’s a lot of contemplation and reflection. Had I missed a reference to Buddhist monk in his profile? I asked, “Did you at least set aside time to make banana bread?” He looked at me quizzically, my humor lost in translation or just not funny. Jokes are always a risk, more so when someone doesn’t know you at all.

 

The vaccination issue abruptly ended our chat. Or maybe he despises banana bread. (If he’d only shared a dislike for banana bread, that would have been something we had in common. Maybe something could have grown from that.) Jorge wasn’t up for a walk. He told me he has chronic health issues. (But no urgency to get vaccinated? Um, okay.) 

 

Perhaps I bear some of the blame for the nonstarter date. Prior to meeting the other guys, I’d asked if they were double vaccinated. I’d neglected to do so with Jorge; if I had, we wouldn’t have met at all—not yet, at least. COVID still has implications on dating. While there are obvious differences, dating during COVID reminds me of meeting guys during the AIDS crisis. Here, with someone you barely know, you’re forced to ask about an otherwise private medical condition due to possible implications. Putting hands over your ears, closing your eyes and humming loudly does not remove you from the current times. Raising the subject is part of staying proactive about your health. Asking Have you been vaccinated? is significantly more informative than What’s your sign? 

 

A couple of days ago, I grabbed coffee with a guy in Whistler. First impression: Nice black mask! Sleek, industrial quality. In the year 2021, is that the basis for physical attraction? 

 

Nice dresser…just look at that mask! 

 

Gosh, I wonder what he’d look like if I got him 

out of his mask! So naughty.  

 

After grabbing our coffees, he chose for us to go for a walk instead of sitting on the patio. (It’s interesting that, on my three dates with vaccinated guys, each of them seemed even more cautious than me.) Rain was in the forecast. My phone indicated a 100% chance at that hour. Still, we walked…and stayed dry! 

 

The masks came off, without any foreplay. Nonetheless, it’s hard to get a feel for whether I was attracted to him with his heavy coat and a baseball cap that he kept on. (He wore a cap in both his profile pics, too.) 

 

Part of a first date is checking the guy out. Really, it was hard to get any impression. I wonder if my shoulder-to-knee coat left much of me cloaked in secrecy, too.

 

Each of these four outings ended with “It was nice meeting you.” (Three out of four, at least. Not sure about Jorge. We stood at a street corner with me hoping he’d stop telling me about his health condition so that he could get back home, warm up and be well.) 

 

I sent no follow-messages; I received none.

 

I’m rather certain the outcome would have been the same even if we’d taken off our coats and sat in a café, gingerly sipping lattes. These were not matches. Still, each of the four dates was shorter than my average indoor coffee date, pre-COVID. I suppose we saved ourselves at least a half hour or an hour’s time meeting in a less cozy environment. It felt less personal, more transactional. There seemed to be a timer running. There was less incentive than ever to share an extended one-off conversation with a stranger. Venturing out is possible again, but connecting continues to have its limits. 

 

The rainy season will only get rainier. The temperatures will drop. I’ve often lamented all the coffee dates I’ve had. I’ve joked that I might have to swear off caffeine. I don’t know if dating in parkas, hoodies, baseball caps and rolling sheets of Plexiglass is my thing. (Okay, no Plexiglass, but that’s probably temporary, supply shortage and all.) 

 

Maybe I can figure out a Plan B. Apparently, I could emulate Jorge and spend more time contemplating and reflecting. 

 

Plan C: If you know anyone in Vancouver that would love MORE banana bread, shoot me an email. With extra time on my hands, I suppose I could become their banana bread dealer.

A CLEAR DIFFERENCE BETWEEN COVID & THE AIDS CRISIS

Over the last week, eighty-four-year-old gay actor George Takei, best known as Sulu from “Star Trek,” was trending on Twitter. That’s not so unusual. The social media platform has given him a higher profile with more than three million followers, many of whom presumably were not around in the days of Sulu and may have never connected with any of the “Star Trek” incarnations. (Takei also has ten million Facebook followers.) He’s known for tweeting sharp, sometimes humorous, takes on politics, clearly leaning left, as well as regularly recognizing LGBTQ accomplishments. 

 

In 2019, after Donald Trump refused to denounce the Proud Boys during a presidential debate, Takei took to Twitter, proposing that the LGBTQ community take over #ProudBoys by using the hashtag and tweeting photos of men kissing. That would show what proud boys truly looked like. It worked. 

 

This week’s attention comes from a tweet opining that people who choose not to be vaccinated and wind up in hospital should not get priority care over others seeking treatment for equally urgent conditions.

The willfully unvaccinated who wind up in hospitals from Covid should not receive priority medical care over other very sick or injured people who are as much in urgent need of medical care.

— George Takei (@GeorgeTakei) August 13, 2021

Provocative. It’s reflective of the palpable frustration regarding the rise in COVID cases yet again and the inability to stop the spread of variants in part because too many unvaccinated people continue to spread the coronavirus. The unvaccinated pose a continuing burden on the healthcare system and, while claiming their stand is, inter alia, an assertion of individual rights (it’s more complicated than that), causing the general public to face a regression in terms of their own freedoms (e.g., renewed travel restrictions; mask requirements reinstated) and affecting the livelihood of many service industry workers due to such measures as restaurant and bar closures. 

 

Many responded to Takei’s comment with wholehearted agreement, almost 40,000 liking his tweet and 9,000 retweeting it. I first ran across the tweet on Saturday morning when someone identifying as gay embedded Takei’s tweet and responded by saying this was a hideous, draconian proposition, akin to arguments during the AIDS crisis that gays shouldn’t receive empathy or care since those that got AIDS brought it on themselves.[1]

 

Oh, dear. Good point. Medical care does not judge. A lifelong smoker who gets lung cancer gets every possible treatment deemed effective. She is not tsk-tsked and told to wait until a nonsmoker with lung cancer is seen. An AIDS patient teetering toward hospice care does not wait longer as another patient in an equally dire medical condition is attended to. An addict who overdoses is not left if an unconscious person from a car accident is rolled in on a gurney.

 

These are the kind of ethical hypotheticals presented in university classes or on a Friday night as a group of philosophically minded hipsters smoke weed. Yes, we’ve heard that hospitals are struggling in treating and finding beds on account of increased admissions since the pandemic began. We’ve read about patients set up in hallways and even tents. Still, there are medical practitioners with different specialties and hospital units for different afflictions. The predicament Takei’s comment pertains to most would presumably involve patients in intensive care. Again, doctors won’t pit vaccinated COVID patients against the unvaccinated or someone with cancer against the antivaxxer person with COVID. Yes, in crisis situations in hospitals, certain cases take priority, but presumably this is based on how acute a patient’s needs are. Let’s hope, at least, that a scenario in which two patients with absolutely equal needs arrive in an ER with only one attending physician is indeed a hypothetical. Otherwise, I suppose it’s first come, first served. 

 

But as I was riding the elevator the next day, a flaw came to mind regarding the person who asserted that Takei’s suggestion was the equivalent to AIDS shaming. The smoker, the addict, the gay man who becomes ill requires care based on behavior alone. There is no vaccine for lung cancer, no vaccine for addictive disorders, no vaccine for AIDS. Presumably, if such vaccines existed, there would be similar frustration if a person particularly susceptible to an affliction didn’t take the vaccine and becomes ill. The initial behavior is not judged but the choice not to be vaccinated, a behavior or non-behavior itself, is what’s at issue. It’s a different level of culpability, heightening Joe Public’s frustration and likely contributing to a greater sense of regret from the patient himself. 

 

 No lie, I got light-headed just looking
 up photos of people getting vaccinated.

There are vaccines for COVID. True, we have no long-term research on any potential harm from taking it. Like EVERY OTHER vaccine, it is not 100% effective. Also, like every other vaccine or medication, there are potential side effects, some very serious. Just listen to the fast-talking listing of side effects, including death, in every medication commercial. I am taking daily meds with frightening short-term and long-term dangers, but I talk with my doctors, strongly resisting over several conversations, and then I acquiesce, choosing to trust the expert and rely on the overwhelming odds I’ll be all right. I am my own a medical problem. I tune out talk about vitamins, I am reticent to take any medication and I am terrified of needles. (It’s documented as a clinical phobia in my rather thick psychiatric file.) Still, I take my meds. I got vaccinated. (Sorry, vitamin D pill. I’ll do without.) For both shots, I asked the poor staffers, “What’s it like stabbing people all day?” Yes, I see needles as incredibly invasive and threatening. To be clear though, I was profusely apologetic for my wimpy behavior and I repeatedly expressed gratitude for their work.

 

People who aren’t vaccinated are impacting those of us who are. It’s not just antivaxxers who’ve engaged in questionable behaviors during the pandemic. It might not have been wise for anyone to walk around in indoor public spaces without a mask or attend cousin Rita’s wedding along with seventy other people. But a very high percentage of now-vaccinated people making these choices remain unaffected. The initial behaviors may be the same, but medical science, but the risks are far different in terms of both incidence and degree. 

 

Again, I think Takei’s tweet was a way of letting off steam and drawing attention to his social media platform. Many vaccinated people who are back to having to wear masks, putting off foreign travel and/or missing their shifts waiting tables for a low wage yelled, “Yeah!” and pressed the like button. I highly doubt his message made any unvaccinated person fret and rush out to get a shot. In fact, I suspect rhetoric like this causes antivaxxers to double down. No. Vaccine. Ever. Perhaps it’s a stance they’ll stick with till the day they die (hopefully due to old age, instead of this mutating coronavirus).

 

Like many, my frustration grows by the week, maybe even by the day. I also feel that getting closer to normality--some form of a freer “new normal”--is being impeded by the holdouts. How did we become so divided and stray so far from the initially universal notion of “We’re all in this together”?

 

Many of us have done what we were supposed to do, what we thought was for the greater public good and now we’re left to bang our heads against walls and “like” what Sulu says. The antivaxxers have received more than their share of airtime. Quite literally so. They make their own maddening and provocative statements. It goes both ways.

 

---

[1] Sorry, I’ve searched for the tweet and can’t find it, but I’m pretty sure I’m accurately saying the gist of it. If not, I defer to dearly missed Gilda Radner’s Emily Litella.