(Pain is relative. No, not A relative.)
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These days, a lot of us in America are focused on getting through the day without being breathed on, or having to drive eighteen hours to negotiate for toilet paper, or being suddenly transported to downtown Portland.

But not all of us.

While you and yours are busy tapdancing to the revolving, inconsistent COVID instructions, some people are dealing with just plain old street-level weirdness.

True, China’s Mexican beer virus has changed us all. Hundreds and thousands of us are still stuck at home, finally discovering that carpets don’t vacuum themselves. Living spaces that once seemed spacious now feel like Marlon Brando’s socks. And “binge” is the new buzzword: people are binging on everything … food, TV shows, online purchases, urban looting.

Also, at home, as cabin fever rises, so rise the odds of cabin-member tensions. There’s been a sharp, documented uptick in domestic unrest, including tales of several dozen husbands who were hospitalized after being clubbed unconscious with the remote control. I know one guy who’s filing for divorce because his wife hid the last jigsaw puzzle piece. (As a single guy, I had to go online and rent some kids so I’d have somebody to get sick of.)

As you’ve probably noticed, online commerce has adopted quickly to this pandemicalized new normal. There is a budding cottage industry, bursting with suppliers of “social distancing” signage and floor circles, wall-mounted warnings and advice, and CDC-approved doorknob covers. You can even buy personalized medical face masks! (Hi, I’m Bob. Breathe over there.)

On the other hand, brick and mortar outlets like The Gap and Banana Republic are shuttering in droves, forcing us to wear clothes that fit. And in New York City, if you want to dine out, well, you literally have to dine out. Thanks to Mayor Billy, eating inside restaurants is illegal – you’ll have to sit outside, which should be a huge hit with NYC diners in February and August.

To be sure, some merchants are getting carried away in their me-too virus-based advertising. For instance, a windshield repair company is promising “touchless replacement.” What did they used to touch?

And it’s not just the United States. Things are so dire in Europe that Greece agreed to get adopted by the Germans (Germany preferred the term “annexed”), and France, desperate for personal protective equipment, and wine, has surrendered to four female tourists from Finland.

But as mentioned, not every interruption in life this year has been due to China sneezing on the world. Witness…

• Folks in Louisiana are used to hurricanes, but not two at a time. This year, within a week, they got treated to bookend storms – Hurricanes Laura and Marco. What’s worse, the “M” storm arrived before the “L” storm! Experts call this the most bizarre thing to happen in American meteorology since Willard Scott stopped grinning.
• If you can imagine it, Arkansas almost got hit by a hurricane. Arkansas. That’s right, Oklahoma’s next-door neighbor, nearly seven hours from the coast, nearly got side-swiped by one of the bookends, Hurricane Laura. The place was so far inland that the Weather Channel’s legendary storm chaser, Jim Cantore, couldn’t even locate it on a map. I mean, the last time Arkansas experienced serious weather issues was the Dust Bowl.
• On a Friday in early August, residents of a neighborhood in Boise, Idaho, were awakened by 118 goats. One hundred eighteen goats, who proceeded to do what goats do … eat. How do we know, 118? Because the shrubbery-savaging ovines had escaped from a company called We Rent Goats. Apparently, one of the goats had leaned on a fence, which collapsed like a Vegas convention-goer on open bar night. The good news is, if you’re ever stuck in Idaho without a goat, now you know who to call. If you need a dependable fence, though, you’re on your own.
• For decades now, beachgoers in Florida have had to deal with buckets of buzzkills … sunburn, sharks, realtors, hurricanes, hurricane insurance salesmen. But lately, an otherwise adult lawyer has been appearing on beaches, from Jacksonville to Miami, dressed as the Grim Reaper. Perhaps he’s trying to sell some kind of SPF 5000 sunscreen.
• Despite there being no mention whatsoever of “licking” from the Centers for Disease Control, the Kentucky Fried Chicken franchise decided to 86 their famous slogan, “finger-lickin’ good,” possibly fearing budget-busting legal action if some KFC patron performed an ad hoc tonsillectomy on a coronavirus carrier and then ordered a bucket of Extra Crispy.

So, the next time you’re feeling sorry for yourself, just remember what other people are putting up with. Be grateful … after all, you could be standing in Little Rock in the dark, dripping wet, dodging rogue goats.