The Covid-19 Diaries; Vol. 6

After what seems an eternity, I am back in circulation.

Although I tested positive for Covid-19 again, on Thursday afternoon, Friday Morning marked the 11th day since I first experienced symptoms.  Since I feel fine and have only a lingering, occasional cough, I went back to work on Friday and had my first two, lengthy, in person meetings since I initially got sick.

I stopped for coffee at Honest Coffee Roasters in the Factory, in Franklin, on my way in, and made a couple of calls.  As I sat in one of the chairs in front, open area, a young, hipster couple walked up and, without asking, sat down a chair away from me.  No effort whatsoever to socially distance from in spite of the fact that there were plenty of other places to sit.

I stared at them incredulously, then smiled.  "I'm not getting Covid-19," I thought.  "But you might."  I made sure to breathe a little more deeply than normal on the outside chance I was still contagious and could teach them a lesson.

As I've told several people, now I have the strength of 10 men.  

Vaccinated, twice.  Boosted.  And now I've survived Covid-19.  Bullet proof, at least as it relates to the virus.  Delta?  Omicron?  Bring it on.

This weekends, I am going to find a Turkish bathhouse and sit, naked, cheek to cheek, with a bunch of old,  sweaty, fat men.  We're going to drink vodka, sing Russian songs, and enthusiastically debate politics.  

From there, I am doing straight to Cici's Pizza, the only all day, every day pizza buffet still in existence in middle Tennessee.  When I arrive, I am going to sit down at a table with a family of complete strangers and eat half-eaten sliced of pizza off of their children's plate.  I am going to drink after one or both of the parents, without asking.  

After I finish eating at Cici's or when the manager kicks me out - whichever comes first - I am going to Lower Broadway in downtown Nashville.  There, I am going into the first saloon I come to named after a "C" list or washed up country music star - A.J.'s Good Time Bar (Alan Jackson), for example - and I am going sit at the bar, in the middle of a bunch of fat, midwestern tourists.  With our arms around each others, swilling draft beer our of ice cold mugs, we'll sing "I've Got Friends in Low Places," by Garth Brooks, unmasked.  

I will be unmasked because I have the strength - and immunity - of 10 men.  They will be unmasked, and unvaccinated, because they are ignorant, clueless rednecks who don't know any better or whose brains have been lobotomized by watching future president for the United States, Sean Hannity, on Fox News night after night after night.

That's what my weekend will look like.  How about yours?