Alright, this is a day late. And I wanted to let this play out a little bit. It’s unapologetically weird. And it’s in chapters! Chapter 1 today, and I hope to get new chapters soon (like, maybe tomorrow? Saturday? Soon…). Okay, let’s see how Amie’s pandemic started…

Monday, March 2, 2020 started pretty normally. I woke up late – normal. I found a mostly clean dress and set a reminder to do laundry – still normal. Put food down for William Ignatius George Grover Lawrence Eliot Smith II (my cat, WIGGLES) – normal. He looked at me, looked at the food, then looked back at me like, “This is the best you’ve got?”

“Yes, Wiggles, that’s what you’re getting.”

He looked back at his food. Then back at me like “You wore that dress on Friday.”

“I know, Wiggles, I know,” I said tying my hair back. “We’re doing laundry tonight.”

He meowed dismissively and begrudgingly started eating his cat food.

I recognized that I need to stop having imaginary conversations with my cat – still normal.

Balanced my grande non-fat chai latte and my breakfast sandwich as I hit the button for the second floor. Didn’t spill anything (okay, very little), hung up my purse, started my computer booting, leaned back in my chair and took a long breath and tried to get myself into the headspace for a new week – normal. 

“You know you they frown at sleeping on the job,” a voice startled me and I jumped in my seat. “Whoa! Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you!”

“Peter!” I said, trying to regain my composure. He was early and I wasn’t prepared to flirt this early – okay, so, yeah, this is the start where things got less normal. “Ahem, sorry, just, you know, meditating for the new week. What, err, how was your weekend?”

He smiled.

I melted.

“Good, good. Have you checked your email yet?” he looked past me and saw my machine just got to the Windows log in. “Oh, guess not.”

“No, what’s up? Who’s fired?”

“No, no one. It’s that virus…”

“Ooh,” I leaned forward, “Who got a virus? Was it from porn? Who downloaded porn at work? Eliot in QA, right? It was totally Eliot!”

“What?” Peter looked confused. “No, no, not that kind of virus. That Covid 19 one that came over from China?”

“That’s a lot less exciting than Eliot getting busted for porn,” I said. I looked at my watch, “Day’s still early, though. He still might… Wait, Covid 19?”

“Weirdo,” he smiled again. Why does he keep doing that?!

I bowed my head. “Guilty,” I said. “So… Covid-19?”

“We’re going home. I’m heading out right now. Didn’t know if Dean talked to you guys yet?”

“Going home?”

“Work from home. Quarantine. Guess this shit’s serious!”

“What? Seriously?” My desk phone rang. “It’s Dean,” I said looking at the caller ID.

“That’s probably it. I’ll catch up with you later!” he said and then disappeared and all my plants immediately wilted for his absence.

“Dean, you’re here early,” I started. In his office, grab Terry and Jessica on the way. Peter was right, we were going home, quarantine indefinitely, do we have the necessary equipment to do our job from home, yada yada yada.

Not. Normal.

Back at my cube, I stared around, evaluated what I needed to take and headed home.

As I approached the door I heard the deep thumping bass. At 10am? Seemingly coming from my door? I took my pepper spray out of my purse and cautiously put my hand on the knob. I could feel the vibrations of the loud music through the cool metal. I listened… “Mind Playing Tricks On Me” by the Geto Boys? What the hell? I jiggled the knob experimentally and it was still locked.

I should have been scared. I probably should have retreated to my car and called the cops. But I was pissed my morning flirting was cut short. I was pissed someone was listening to tracks from the golden age of hip hop without me (the song had changed to Pete Rock and C.L. Smooth’s “They Reminisce Over You”)! Someone’s getting pepper sprayed.

Here was my plan: quietly unlock the door, throw it open with one hand out ready to pepper spray whoever’s in there and has great taste in hip hop. The other hand will be ready to dial 911. Lock clicked, placed my keys in my purse, keyed 911 on my phone with my left thumb hovering over the dial button. Pepper spray ready, I threw open the door.

First thing I noticed was the disco ball. That was not hanging from the ceiling when I left. Second thing, the orange couch. I loved it, but it wasn’t mine. Third thing, my cat, Wiggles, sitting on said couch like a person would, in the middle of taking a rip off a bong that was literally the same size as him.

So far from normal I couldn’t find normal on a goddamn map.

My pepper spray clattered to the floor.

“What the fuck?!”

I said it. Wiggles said it. Well, coughed it as he nearly dropped the green bong. The goat that stood in front of him caught the teetering glass cylinder in his horns.

“Good catch, Chuck,” Wiggles said to the goat.

“No, seriously, what the fuck?!” I yelled.

Wiggles looked back at me. “Uh Oh….” Appropriately, the song changed to “Scenario” by Tribe Called Quest. The cat stared at me. I stared at the cat. ‎Phife Dawg flowed on the track. Wiggles snapped (I still don’t understand how) and the music stopped, the goat disappeared, as did the disco ball. The couch, too, was replaced with my boring beige free couch. It was my house again. Wiggles flipped from his seated position to a more standard four-legged standing position, tilted his head and let out a perfectly normal, “Meow?”