The Inability to Hear What is Being Said Plus the Belief in Horseshit Makes a Really Bad Trip
The casino is closed. For the past few days the few of us still allowed on property are doing some deep cleaning in preparation of re-opening once things... well... once things level off. I’m not so rose-colored glasses to believe things will ever be back to normal. I do believe things will level themselves.
I’m taping “We’re Closed” type signs on the three entrances. An older dude comes up, nudges me aside and tries to open the door. The door is locked and chained but he tries a couple of times in vain.
“We’re closed for the next thirty days by order of the Governor of Nevada. Apologies for the inconvenience.”
“I need to cash my check!” he barks with a thick Slavic accent. “What do you mean closed?”
“I mean closed closed. Not open. You’ll need to cash your check at your bank.”
He stands for a moment, peers inside the doors, and heads for the second entrance. I have to put up signs on those doors, too, so I follow him. He gets to the second entrance and tries to open the locked and chained doors. This time with a bit more force.
“Excuse me, sir. We. Are. Closed.”
“But I have to cash my check!” He stares at me as if this phrase will mystically change reality and the doors will swing open to the sound of sonic glitter. It does not. He walks toward the front entrance. I follow.
“Dude! The casino is fucking CLOSED.”
Perhaps it was the third utterance or the added profanity but somehow he gets it. He turns, muttering to himself and walks down Tropicana in search of a place to turn a promissory note into more promissory notes so he can go hoard some cans of tuna and toilet paper.
I understand that he heard me the first two times but his need and the general stupor of confusion as the familiar landscape of this most American of cities is rendered empty and unrecognizable somehow blocked the meaning of my words.
The same thing is happening everywhere. Everyone—even those who exclusively watch FOX News and somehow find the Donald to be inspiring rather than a fucking embarrassment—is hearing the words being said by those most credible (“Stay inside. Wash your hands. Avoid crowds. Flatten the curve”) yet cannot quite grasp the meaning.
One would think that, given the track record of mistruths, half facts, and outright lies Trump has amassed in three and half years, the very idea of trusting him in this crisis is ludicrous. One would think that yet it is not the case for an awful lot of people.
Instead I am showered with sweaty conspiracy theories about our entire situation:
That COVID-19 was manufactured by the Chinese
That COVID-19 is in Lysol cans (Lavender)
That this pandemic has been conjured as a way to refocus the news cycle away from Biden and Bernie
That Trump will suspend the November election and become perpetual king
That we will soon have martial law and they will take away our guns
We choose to believe complete and utter horseshit in order to feel like the world makes sense. We all do it.
We take vitamin supplements when we know they don’t do anything but spice up our stool.
We buy Lotto tickets when we know the odds are so stacked against us we’d sooner get eaten by a bunch of red ants in our back yard than actually win any money.
We eat salads from McDonalds.
We drink diet soda.
We believe that a pandemic is either the Black Plague in scope or “just the flu” and can’t somehow get that the truth—like the capital T TRUTH—is almost always in between the two extremes. You know, more than the flu but maybe not the killer of humanity.
This pandemic could kill a lot of people.
“But it’s Spring Break and I paid for the vacation!”
This pandemic could kill a lot of people.
“But the economy is going to be ruined and I’ll be evicted!”
“Dude. This fucking pandemic could KILL a LOT of PEOPLE.”
Maybe it’s the third utterance or the profanity.
