A regular Saturday morning in January, I clock in and greet my manager, and my attention is immediately drawn to a poster sellotaped to the counter. After a read my initial thought is “this is going to cause a lot of messy customer questions today”. I’d heard there was a disease outbreak in China, but wasn’t familiar with the name, or why we were informing customers about it.
“This virus in China?” my manager rolls her eyes. I’m certain she’s thinking the same – surely this isn’t necessary. Ironically, it is her who becomes our first member to contract the virus, some weeks later.
“This virus in China?” my manager rolls her eyes. I’m certain she’s thinking the same – surely this isn’t necessary. Ironically, it is her who becomes our first member to contract the virus, some weeks later.
The following week a man approaches the till arms laden, with every bottle of hand sanitizer on our shelves, big and small. He grins and I can tell he has a story he wants to share, so I say in passing “stocking up?”, and oh boy, was I sorry I asked. 10 minutes later he has filled me with what I regarded as ‘just conspiracy theories’, of how the Chinese government has created a virus that will wipe out one-fifth of the world’s population to simultaneously combat their unsustainable population growth, and for economic advances. He says it’ll be in Ireland in a matter of months. I retell the story to the pharmacist on duty and we laugh. In hindsight, yes, we were very closed minded to the idea, but at this time we merely knew there was an outbreak of some virus somewhere in China, and that was all. Looking back, there were most definitely chunks of method in what I then perceived as just complete madness.
The following weeks brought questions and curiosity, and many in store rows over facemasks and sanitisers. One lady buys the last six masks we have, to send to her son over in Beijing, and another lady waiting to be served becomes very agitated when she realises this. “Excuse me, but my son is going to Taiwan next week, did you say those are the last face masks, you can’t buy them all”. After some heated back and forth, they agree to share. This was the turning point of everything for me. In years to come when I’m retelling my Covid experience, this is the start, the start of the panic and anxiety, the start of it all.
In the weeks after, it is customers with family in Asia who initially start the ball rolling on buying our face masks, alcohol wipes and sanitiser supplies. Many share stories of their families and friends in China who have had first hand experiences with the virus, and we begin to realise that this is a swelling problem, but it is by no means a problem to cause immediate concern to us yet, as Europe still hasn’t had its first case.
It’s now March. A yellow HSE COVID poster, that we are all now very familiar with, alienates our front door. Social distancing marks and a plastic shield inside create an immediate sense of sterility that is foreign and feels very out of place in our normally quite welcoming pharmacy, filled with the radio and chitter chatter between customers and staff.
“Hand sanitisers, face masks, thermometers, and alcohol wipes essentially become gold dust. One lady asks if she could pour straight vodka on her hands as an alternative to sanitiser.”
The rush to stock up and buy on impulse. Hand sanitisers, face masks, thermometers, and alcohol wipes essentially become gold dust. One lady asks if she could pour straight vodka on her hands as an alternative to sanitiser. Scientists suggest taking probiotics and Vitamin D to boost immunity, and they fly off the shelves. Trump alludes to using bleach as a method of preventing contracting the virus – with every sale of Dettol we now must advise customers to not consume it. Trump mentions taking hydroxychloroquine, the malaria drug with potentially severe side effects to protect himself, and this leads to a rush of customers wondering if they should be taking it. Quinine, found in soda water, is then suggested to help prevent contracting the virus, which leads to customers’ desperation to get their hands on some Quinine supplements. And then last but not least, the hunt for hair dyes and beard trimmers as hairdressers and barbers aren’t opening any time soon.
Empathy. Empathy for the nurse that stops in for her meds on the way to a shift on the Covid ward. Empathy for the old man who should be cocooning but doesn’t have family to take the trip for him. Empathy for the person who confines their worry in you.
“The spectrum of alternate ways of coping, and expressing stress is so much broader than I’d have ever thought.”
The spectrum of alternate ways of coping, and expressing stress is so much broader than I’d have ever thought. One kind lady drops in hot scones every Saturday with lovely thank you notes. Another comes in frantic that her diabetic husband’s temperature has risen and she is hysteric with worry. Shortly after, a woman stops by coughing and telling everyone to stay away from her “in case she has it”. Adapting to a pretty constant atmosphere of panic and unease took time, and learning to comfort continuously was also challenging. Taking a lunch break usually means sitting in the reception lobby next door, but the Covid talk from the tv is too much. Taking a walk seems like an alternative until everyone you pass is mid virus chitter chatter. Complete immersion. But knowing that I’m contributing in some small way to the trickle of normal activities left in our country, as the majority are at a standstill, is something I’m grateful for, to not feel completely useless in all of this.
The quiet customer who momentarily ignores all that is happening around us, and talks about normal things like the weather is a breath of fresh air and a break in the day. Curious customers are fine too, we talk about the schools closing and the status of the virus in other countries. Customers sharing their new lock down pastimes are also very refreshing. Then there’s the one that will push the line with outlandish statements, surely only said to initiate a response. “But when do you think it will ACTUALLY end?” That one has to be rhetorical, clearly you don’t want me to respond to that? But the customer asks again “Like when is it meant to end?”. There’s only so much comfort and reassurance you can give in an 8 hour shift, and right now my tank is empty.
Worry can very easily be falsely radiated as ignorance. “Do you think it’s actually as bad as they’re making it out to be?” I become so used to responding to these types of questions with facts or brushing over them and attempting to comfort , but this one I couldn’t help but retaliate to. How insensitive and just plain ignorant. After successive shifts sprinkled with questions like this, I learn that this can only be explained as another form of response. Trying to play situations down is definitely a form of coping. There’s no way someone could actually be this ignorant, as we are now in full lockdown mode, with new daily cases in the thousands, and intensive care units around the country at the fullest they will be during the pandemic.
Fast forward a few months to August. The panic and anxiety shifts to agitation and lack of patience. Lockdown revisits Kildare, and cabin fever sets in. What were “thank yous”, morph into eyerolls when an item is not in stock, or the waiting time is a little longer than usual. However, the constant unease has definitely lifted from the air. The general chatter has shifted to the wearing of face masks, and the preparation for children returning to school, everyone hoping the cases will lessen soon and Kildare lockdown will be lifted.
Obviously each person is going to take from the past few months their own experience and learning. Whether it be the student nurse working on a Covid ward, who has been put under the most pressure they may be put under during their nursing career, or someone who is learning to deal with the loss of a loved one, we’re all going to look back on 2020 uniquely and through different frames. I’ve learned how human responses to difficult scenarios are so immensely diverse and unique. That when a random man comes in and fills you with outlandish ideas as he buys all of your hand sanitiser, to stop, and at least consider the possibility of what he is saying as something that may actually become somewhat a reality, to be more open minded.
