Duck and Cover for our New Normal

I said it when I was eight and I still mean it

When I first moved into this apartment I was equal parts bemused, relieved, and annoyed to find the biggest window in the place covered with a massive Do-Not-F-With-Me security gate to keep anyone from breaking in from the fire escape.

Since I was living alone at the time, I was less annoyed by that big, old ugly thing than grateful. Ok, granted, I moved here as Mayor Moneybags was deciding that Gracie Mansion was not really his style so things were pretty quiet. Still, I slept better with that sucker locked and in place.

However, there’s a price for every decent night’s sleep. Not only is that security gate ugly as you can plainly see for yourself, in order to reach the windows to open or close them, that gate screeches like a dying banshee. Moreover, the catch to lock it is rusty and old so that sometimes the only way to make sure it’s closed properly is to give it a good, hard slam with the hammer that lives on the window sill for exactly that purpose. In short, the old thing is a complete pain.

While the situation out on the streets has gone up and down over the 18+ years I’ve lived here, the only “being” I’ve ever seen climbing one of these fire escapes was a raccoon one summer afternoon. He napped, groomed, napped, and then finally waddled down and wandered off.

AleXander has been talking about getting rid of that ugly thing for years now and tonight the super, Kent, just happened to be in the building to put someone’s AC in. Sure, he can pull that thing out. Not a problem.

But what if!

Four nights ago we found ourselves uncomfortably close to what had turned into a riot down near 14th Street in New York City. We were about four blocks from a burning police car when the energy around us shifted in a blink and suddenly unmasked people were streaming past us, running towards the burning car. We got our old-people’s backsides home toot sweet, I tell you!

In the nights since then, we’ve watched videos of the streets of Soho, Midtown, Brooklyn, and the Bronx filled with gangs of young people intent on destruction and theft. Plate glass windows being smashed. The plywood on Macy’s windows in Herald Square being pried off and dozens of people racing in to grab whatever they could. Looters coming out of stores loaded down with their prizes only to have other, bigger looters grab their stuff and run. Police finally giving up and just watching.

(An aside: it’s really too too bad that Peter missed this. Peter who waxed nostalgic for the days of crime, rats, and cheap porno theaters on 42nd Street.)

Is it really all that smart to be ditching the security gate right now? Ok so none of us thinks we’re going to go full Mad Max here. Right? But then again none of us thought we’d be quarantined and wearing masks every time we left our apartments (if we were smart), did we, Sunshine? What to do, what to do?

Duck and cover!

Here’s a little trip down Memory Lane for us older folks. Remember duck and cover drills in elementary school? (You kids are gonna love this) In the third grade, we were instructed to get under our desks and put our arms over our heads in case those dirty Ruskies launched a thermonuclear attack. You read that right. With ballistic missiles about to hit, all the six, seven, and eight-year-olds were going to save themselves by hiding under their desks.

We got quite an education about what to expect in case of a nuclear strike.

Mrs. Brown explained all about nuclear winter and radiation sickness. Every large building had signs indicating that one could shelter there in case of a nuclear attack. We were pretty obsessed with the idea as you can see.

Eight years old and I decided that when the Bomb dropped I wanted it to land right on my head.

Who wants to survive a nuclear attack only to spend years freezing and starving and dying slowly from radiation sickness? Screw that! If I could have painted a nice fat red and white target on top of my pig-tailed head I would have. Right here, you Pinko Commie Fags!!! And make sure you aim carefully, k? This is one war I don’t want to survive.

That’s from an eight-year-old, mind you.

Some storms are more perfect than others

When our friend, the Virus, arrived and then got serious there were a number of stories in the press about people fleeing to summer homes or relatives’ places in other states. Given we’re clearly dealing with a global pandemic, I’m not sure I follow why anyone would do that, but what do I know? Maybe it’s less stressful waiting to get sick out in the Hamptons or something.

The Virus has been very bad news indeed. On top of that, riots and looting and arson are horrible but in the heat of this moment, everyone seems to have forgotten that the Virus hasn’t packed up and left town yet.

Hundreds of understandably passionate, angry, frustrated young people are cramming themselves together day after day in their demonstrations. Some are wearing masks. Many are not. They’re pissed off and yelling. And when they yell and chant and shout, they’re spraying each other with droplets of spit. And some of that spit is carrying the Virus.

Things have been very bad and I’m thinking that they’re about to get much worse.

The gate is coming down

And you know what? We’re still getting rid of that ugly security gate. It’s going to let more light in and we’ll be able to open both windows easily. We can keep both windows clean more easily as well. No longer will I have to try to slowly open the gate early in the morning to get to the window and not wake everyone in the building.

The world being what it is, the chances of us finding another place to live that we can afford in this mad city are slim to none. So this is where we’re going to be for some time to come. It will be so much lovelier in here with that horrible old gate gone.

And if things really go all the way dark and we’ve got bands of marauding murderers and rapists swarming over fire escapes looking for old people to kill? Hey, the target is clearly right here on the top of my head.

Don’t miss.

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