BOYNTON BEACH, FLORIDA — My dues went up for my synagogue. Do we really need as big a building that can sit 500 with three rabbis, a cantor, ten office staff, security, and more?
My grandson’s bar mitzvah was canceled. I don’t count a 23-car caravan circling the house as his Aliyah is called by Zoom from the front porch as quite the right experience.
The Yom Tovs are not good days to go to shul anymore.They have become deadly. Virtual Shabbats for shut-ins have become kosher. I no longer feel guilty falling asleep in services during the sermon. I don’t have to wash the car, and I can attend shul in my pjs. The rabbi officiates at the funerals through Zoom. Mourners can’t even go out to lunch for a celebration of life because it might mean death.
If services are attendance online events, will God be online also or will God remain virtual, pretty much like always? Thank God, the local pot and liquor stores are essential open businesses. I need them to find my inner spiritual self. God forbid, I don’t run out of Excedrin for the morning hangover.
My grandson’s College tuition bill came in the mail. $57,500 a year for what – Zoom? What am I paying for? Textbooks are e-books that he can’t highlight, no returns. Much cheaper. The professors requiring he buy their books don’t get $59.95 anymore for two chapters of their books but $.25. He can’t even go to his fraternity beer bashes, chase girls. His condom allowances are way down. That will save a lot of shekels. It does not do much for his attitude though.
My job productivity is -33%. I work from home now. My hope no longer is for a raise — only do I have a job? The wife and I talk about divorce, we have run through and ruined every recipe in the Fun to be Jewish Cookbook. The delivery service refuses to come to the house until we clear out the front walk from the three-day piled up boxes to be sure no coronavirus is there.
Netflix is sending me emails to re-watch the same series of shows I already watched twice for the fun of knowing what is going to happen. If I start a Netflix show and don’t finish it, I get dunning notices for days – don’t forget to finish watching. I wonder if they will cancel my service if I don’t finish watching what I did not like watching in the first place?
Things that normally I could do in ten minutes take fifty. Sleeping in late used to be a luxury now it’s a new normal. My daughter can’t go out on a date except by Zoom. She cries my being Covid-at-risk is ruining her life.
The car needs oil changing. The car does not go anywhere. Do we really need three cars? Why did my car insurance go up this year?
The assessor says my property taxes are going up. I can’t call the county government. No one answers, coronavirus. The public library is closed.
The wife says she needs something from B B and Wherever, shop online, curbside pickup. No returns except with pre-approved online labels. Three-hour hold time for a customer service rep.
The wife needs one number four white needlepoint thread. Normally, to get out of the house, I could drive to the local craft shop and buy the wrong # one so I could return it the next day. The craft shop is closed. Ordering the $.69 product costs $4.95 for delivery.
The election is about postage stamps. Everyone in the state is being given a mail-in ballot. If I don’t have a stamp, can I vote? Will that not be profiling the rich against the poor? The more boring, confused, and sleepy the candidate the better. I am sapped by controversy. I want to be left alone to hide in my closet until General Dr. Faucci tells me when I can go out safely, socially distanced forever and ever. I am so beaten down with contentions I want quiet, brain-dead, senile normal. Who needs freedom? I am para-covid-noided?
Flatten the curve? The second wave is crushing us. We will all be dead. OK, let it come. I want to live again.
I know what to do. I suggested to the wife we go live on my HALF-acre ranchette in very remote Southern New Mexico, Luna County, Sunshine Valley Ranchettes. I bought the ranch from the back of a Parade Magazine advertisement in college for $5.00 a month for 42 months. Owning land is being somebody.
The ranch is on Ohio Street, miles from anyone. It is gently bathed in the shadow of the nearby Florida mountains. My nearest neighbor is a Gila monster, two rattlers, and a cactus bush. Every Thursday, Wiley Coyote visits, “recommending” protection money. I defunded the cops.
On occasion, Dust Devils roll by more and more frequently, Climate Warming, Climate Change, whatever. I have water, six thousand feet down. I can keep busy digging the well for our hot tub afternoon siestas.
Don’t know if she is positive or negative on the ranch move idea. Looks like Friday Night Ketubah rights might be put on hold for a long time.
I’m tired of my virtual shopper bringing me overly ripe, pre-squished tomatoes and milk that is due to expire in two days.
It is 95 degrees outside, with 97% humidity. The state has ordered everyone, everywhere, for any reason, must wear sweaty, suffocating masks outside. My face has a goatee rash. Walking the dog is torture. I’ll stay in my air-conditioned closet.
My doctor visits are virtual. I’ve watched the YouTube self-medical teaching channel dozens of times. I can’t quite get the how to check myself for a hernia and prostate chapter right. I keep flunking the final exam.
I’ll take my chances for me. I’ve had it. I’m going outside in the very dark of tonight, no mask, far from any neighbor. The newly created National Agency for Covid Control police may be watching.
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Satire by Jerry Klinger, who is the author of Boynton Beach Chronicles. He may be contacted via jerry.klinger@sdjewishworld.com
Dear Jerry,
Temp. here in Southern Calif. is high of 68 with a 28 humidity.
Other then that, everything seems the same as your place, except our Democratic governor keeps raising the gas tax – but getting no more $$ in his pockets because no-one is driving anywhere.
I’ve fixed everything not working in my house. Closets have been thinned out, but had to stop because Goodwill can’t take any more.
Last night the college kids with nothing to do and only mush learned in their US History classes last year tore down the statue of the priest who created most of our missions that allowed our towns to grow to cities, etc, etc.
If it wasn’t for him I’d still be shoveling snow in Connecticut.
At least I can still get my Sr. Coffee in a large cup for the free refill from McDonalds for $1.00. It’s our only daily trip out of our house.
David (and Sheila) Epstein
PS: Did you ever find Michael Issacson? He should be wandering around your streets.
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