It’s a remarkable time and I’m living day 2 of confinement because of a virus that could make sick, kill or worse. This isn’t Kansas anymore.
Or is it?
If we think about Kansas, we see fields of corn or some other agricultural filling, wide open spaces, loads of nothing, empty roads with that yellowy-orange American marking. And it was just this sensation I had, when I drove the 7 kilomètres to our nearby town to get diesel for my car, gasoline for my lawn mower and to send some registered mail to a company of whom I’m not sure if there will be somebody to open the enveloppe, let alone treat my dossier. There was nobody outside and it was one of the most beautiful spring-is-getting-on-days this year.
And I, I was feeling illegal. Strange. And not in a cool gangster kind of way, unfortunately. Theoretically, I was completely fine. I downloaded, printed and filled out the form of the French government on which I could cross doing essential purchases. Which I did, I was doing essential purchases. And I didn’t exceed the speed limit, I wore my seatbelt, I didn’t use my phone while driving. But still, I was being all alone in Kansas…
At the post office, there was a post woman opening and closing the door with a paper between her hand and the door handle. She was nice and smiling. There were tables in front of the counter, so you wouldn’t get too close to the other post woman, who was also kind. And when I had to fill in a form, I used my own pencil. Besides me and the two post women, there was nobody inside.
Same at the gas station. There was nobody before, nor after me, so I could calmly fill my car and a jerry can for the mower. If there would have been people, they would have thought I was building stocks filling that jerry can. But I would never. In strange times, of all things, you have to keep your morals high, right? Without them, we would be nothing more than foraging animals. And that, my friend, we don’t want to be.
Then, I visited a friend in wine. Since I have a hotel like business, I’m aloud to be open (it’s an essential thing, apparently). And when I’m open, I’m in need of wine. Honestly, I’m in need of wine for far more reasons, but the hotel excuse should work in case of the gendarme asking questions. And there they were again: my small illegal feelings… Which I ignored. Again. I’m getting better at it every hour.
After driving the empty back roads home, maybe speeding just a little, it was kind of back to normal. My mowing neighbour was happy I got him gasoline (yes, it’s my great neighbour who’s keeping my lawn), my kids had walked the dog (without a form, but I didn’t see a big control post coming on the dirt road behind our house), and my mother was putting the kettle on. Kansas. It’s a strange place.
