Being Furloughed at Home Is Not Like Retirement

For those furloughed from work or school because of COVID-19, no, this is not what retirement feels like.

Classes have bern cancelled, business travel, especially to trade shows, has been drastically cut back or eliminated, onsite staff meetings have been shifted to teleconferences, production lines have been shut down, sporting events have been played to empty arenas. The government has strongly recommended seniors avoid cruise ships.

All this and more disruptions of everyday life because of coronavirus fear. Tens of thousands die in the United States each year from the flu, yet people avoid annual vaccinations. Likewise, parents withhold inoculations intended to shield children from measles, whooping cough and diphtheria. It makes fear of a coronavirus pandemic rather extreme.

During my almost weekly visit to Costco Monday afternoon I was struck by several ironies. First, upon pushing my shopping cart inside the Port Chester, NY, unit, a staffer eagerly asked if I would like the handlebar wiped down with a disinfectant. Sure, said I, while noting that I had already been exposed to any lingering germs while pushing the cart inside. I was not offered a disinfectant for my hands.

I didn’t go to Costco to buy toilet paper. Good thing, because the recent run on toilet paper had cleaned out the stock, as it has in most stores. Did a panicky public hear something about the virus that I hadn’t? Did the virus affect one’s bowels even as it attacked the lungs?

For an answer I did what most people do these days. I consulted Google. Here’s another oddity: On the search line, after I typed in the word “why,” the immediate suggested query was “Why are people buying toilet paper?” 

The oddities continued: the first article was from CNN. It was written by Scottie Andrew. Anyone else think it peculiar that the writer’s first name conjures up a leading toilet paper brand? (https://amp.cnn.com/cnn/2020/03/09/health/toilet-paper-shortages-novel-coronavirus-trnd/index.html)

Seeing pictures of people the world over wearing surgical masks leads to one of three conclusions: There are a lot of sick people out there (sick as in crazy, yes; sick as in ill, nah); the human race really is composed of caring people who don’t want to infect the rest of us (nah, they’re wearing those masks to protect themselves which leads me to the third and most accurate assessment); there are a lot of dumb people out there who do not listen to health care experts who say masks, especially the most common type worn, are not intended or able to keep the wearer safe.

Shopping Costco is one of my favorite pastimes. I especially enjoy sampling all, well, almost all, of the freebies dispensed throughout the warehouse. But Costco has nixed giveaways as a health safety precaution. I have to believe it will diminish sales. I know I’ve brought home numerous items I’ve first-time tasted there (the  kosher ones only, of course).

But Costco’s bottom line was not on my mind as I walked the aisles. Rather, I pondered the fate of the men and women who have lost their jobs, at least temporarily, cooking up and dishing out bite-sized morsels.

The coronavirus has a far larger impact on low income families than on white collar households. The public is avoiding events with large concentrations of attendees. South by South West (SXSW) cancelled, for example. Think of all the workers in Austin—in restaurants, hotels, Uber and taxi drivers, plus other service industry mainstays—who will be adversely affected by the absence of nearly a half million visitors. The lost revenue in pay and tips will be devastating.

Retirement should be a time of relaxation, sans anxiety. Visits to museums, theaters, restaurants. Taking classes at nearby colleges and religious institutions. Seeing the grandkids for a few days. 

Instead, furloughed worker are worrying about the possibility of losing their jobs. With the average person having just about $10,000 in bank savings (much lower for hourly workers), prolonged time off the job will heighten anxiety about how rent/mortgage will be paid, how food and medicine will be bought, how car payments will be made, how credit card debt will be lowered … how long before life will be back to normal, if ever. 

Retirees usually have monthly Social Security checks and, if they’re lucky, some other income from pensions or retirement accounts. Furloughed workers might be eligible for unemployment compensation as it would be doubtful their employers would be generous enough to keep them on the payroll for an indefinite period.

Students usually exult upon receiving an unexpected day off from school, such as a snow day. But multiple, consecutive days at home become boring and counterproductive, not to mention a nuisance for parents to cope with. Teachers, meanwhile, may receive their full year’s pay, but what about school bus drivers? 

Having been retired for more than 10 years, I strongly suggest to those finding themselves at home instead of at work that they limit television viewing time, especially of cable news stations. Nonstop, repetitive reports about the coronavirus and Trump/Biden/Sanders will intensify your blood pressure, a condition that you don’t want once you eventually reach true retirement age.

Venus, Jon Stewart and Red Light Districts

CBS Sunday Morning did a piece on Good Housekeeping’s Seal of Approval a few days ago. If a product carrying the coveted seal does not perform as promised, the magazine—not the manufacturer or the retailer—will refund the purchase price or replace the product. Which brings me to today’s mail and a copy of a magazine-sized glossy catalog of women’s apparel from Venus of Jacksonville, Fla. It’s 96 pages of soft porn images of fetching young maidens in bikinis and otherwise come-hither fashions. The back cover headline is “Sexy Sunrises are on your horizon.”

By the way, this hot catalog was not sent to Gilda. It was sent to me! I’m flattered Venus considers me, or Gilda, sexy. But I can’t help but thinking Venus and others of its ilk should adopt a Good Housekeeping-like creed—if their products don’t turn you into the personification of sexiness (at least to your partner’s satisfaction) in say, 60 days, you should get your money back. Or at the very least, they should remove you from their mailing list.

Jon Stewart of The Daily Show is no Sandy Koufax. You’ll remember the southpaw ace of the Los Angeles Dodgers forsook pitching the opening game of the 1965 World Series against the Minnesota Twins because it fell on Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, Judaism’s holiest day. (For the record, Koufax pitched and won two other games in leading the Dodgers to the baseball title.) Stewart chooses to ignore, and even mock, Jewish holidays, working on Yom Kippur and other holidays including this week’s Passover celebration. Most Jews I know have a liberal sense of humor about our religion, so we laugh along with Stewart’s comedic send-ups. 

Monday night, however, one of The Daily Show’s best puns went unappreciated by what must have been an audience with few if any Jews, given that it was the night of the first seder of Passover. There wasn’t even a hint of laughter when Stewart’s reporting on the president’s trip to Israel was accompanied by the caption, “Barack Atah Adonai.” For the non-believers out there, and anyone else Hebraically challenged, Barack Atah Adonai is a play on “Baruch Atah Adonai” which begins every blessing and means “blessed are you, Lord our God.” In Stewart’s version, the Hebrew translates to “Barack (Obama), you are God.”  

Uh-oh: Retirement may cost me about 50 bucks. Since I don’t travel out of LaGuardia Airport too often these days I was unaware traffic lights were installed on an overhang above the departure ramp of the main terminal. As I drove Ellie and Donny to the United Airlines door, I was softly questioned by my son-in-law about gliding through a red light. 

I stopped at the next one and noticed a camera stationed to the right of the red sphere. Dread descended. No doubt my picture was taken at the prior light. No doubt I’ll get a notice in the mail in a few weeks demanding payment for going through a red light. No doubt my defense that no lights previously impeded my progress down the ramp will not absolve me from having to pay for the infraction. Ah well, it’s a small price to pay for an otherwise enjoyable retirement.

Fantasy By the Numbers

Do you fantasize? No, I don’t mean about any longed-for sexual exploits. I mean, do you fantasize about winning a big lottery and how you would spend your newly attained wealth?

Friday night the Mega Millions jackpot hit $319 million. Saturday night’s Power Ball drawing was a comparatively paltry but still scintillating $125 million. New York State’s Lotto, also picked Saturday night, was an almost insignificant $14 million.

I’m not greedy. I’d be content if I just won Lotto.

When I remember, I usually buy tickets for each game. $1 per drawing. I cashed in my biggest winnings of the year last week, a cool $3 which I immediately reinvested in the next games.

So underconfident am I in winning the grand prize that I am happy when I see the lottery total increase after each drawing. I just assume I don’t have the winning ticket so I’m content to see the money grow. I’m disappointed when someone wins. Not really envious. Okay, a tad envious. But mostly disappointed that my fantasizing must come to an end as I await the next jumbo jackpot.

Weeks can go by without my purchasing a lottery ticket. It didn’t use to be that way. About 20 years ago, my work friends Milton and Stanley shared tickets each week. They’d invest $5 apiece and split any proceeds. I found out about their “retirement” scheme one day and demanded in. They agreed and also let Dominic join the pool. Soon, word spread through the company and before we knew it we had 20 partners. We figured we had a good chance of winning considering the diversity of our group. We had secretaries and salesmen, editors and maintenance crew. Old and young, men and women. Poor and relatively rich. A truly American tableau.

The Indian newsstand operator in the lobby of our building held our tickets. We played the same numbers each week. I was in charge of placing our bets and checking the results. When large lottery prizes were up for grabs in California, Illinois or Florida, states where we had satellite offices, we’d prevail on colleagues there to buy tickets for us. The most we ever won any week was $96, not a very favorable return on our weekly $100 investment.

How frustrating it was to read about workers in a sheet metal shop or some other plant who won and divided up millions. (How interesting that seven New York State workers from the Albany area share the winning ticket for Friday’s $319 million Mega Millions drawing. No one won Power Ball or the NY Lotto.) My partners and I languished in self-pity for about five years before disbanding our pool.

Now that I’m semi-retired I figure I more fully match the profile of many lottery winners who no longer work. Of course, there are a lot more people without jobs now than before, many of whom are victims of the recession, so their human interest stories might be more touching than mine. Still, I can dream on.

As to what I’d do with any bonanza that might come my way, you’ll just have to pray along with me to find out.

Scary Headline

Now here’s a scary headline:

“Taking Early Retirement May Retire Memory, Too”

As if I didn’t have enough trouble justifying my retirement to Gilda, other family members and friends, the NY Times had to send up caution signals for the world to see (http://www.nytimes.com/2010/10/12/science/12retire.html?_r=1&src=me&ref=general).

I could simply ignore the issue. Or maybe joke my way through it. But let’s be serious, for a moment. I am open to working again. Just not the typical 9-to-5-or-longer job I had for nearly four decades. I’m especially not interested in working “for” somebody. That’s one reason I didn’t go to work for my father way back when. I don’t respond too well to authority. I’m more the collaborative type. The big picture type. I can sweat the details if necessary, but I prefer the creative process and working with a team to implement it. That strategy worked before. No reason to think it wouldn’t work again.

Speaking of work, had a meeting today with an old colleague. Perhaps we’ll collaborate on some new projects he is launching. Except on rare occasions, I wouldn’t have to wear socks...


Party Time: I consider myself to be a relatively astute political consumer. I generally know the significant issues and the major candidates from each party running in an election. What galls me this election, and to be honest, for several years now, is the reluctance of candidates from both major parties to identify their campaign messages with their respective party affiliations.

Lawn signs, mailers, radio spots and TV ads—all are in patriotic red, white and blue, with no clue as to party allegiance. Seemingly from dog catcher all the way up to president of the United States, no candidate has the consideration to inform. Or perhaps they are just too scared to openly align themselves, lest voters tar them with contempt they have for the national, regional or local party.


Time to Man Up: Perhaps it’s because I live in an area where Tea Party meshugaas (that’s Yiddish for craziness) is not so prevalent, but I am wondering how it is that presumably sane Democratic candidates for office have not exposed Tea Party nominees and their regular Republican brethren for the reactionary suits they are? Are Democrats not running ads detailing the political agenda of the right wing?

The other day, CBS News reported the GOP candidate in West Virginia running in a special election for the U.S. Senate seat formerly held by Robert Byrd wants to abolish the minimum wage. How could any non-salaried worker in West Virginia be tempted to vote for him? Is the Democrat candidate not blasting that message home every day?

Tea Party/GOP candidates also want to abolish Medicare, dismantle Social Security; they rail against the government bailout of the automobile and banking industries. It is easy to challenge programs that cost billions of dollars. Democrats have been ineffectual in explaining the benefits of these programs. They have but 18 more days to man up and defend their record.


Last Sunday I saw a profile of Stieg Larsson, the Swedish author of the Millennium Trilogy, the books and movies that have enthralled the public (The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, The Girl Who Played with Fire, The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest). Larsson died before his books became must-reads.

In the middle of the TV piece, I hit the pause button to note to Gilda with more than a degree of irony that Stieg Larsson’s after-death fame paralleled that of Jonathan Larson, the creator of Rent, the rock musical. Jonathan Larson died the night before Rent opened off-Broadway. It shortly thereafter moved to Broadway where it played for 12 years.

I’m not the first person to recognize the similarity of their last names and their deaths before success. But in case you weren’t aware of it, there it is.


Coincidence? Hardly: I can’t remember a time in our near-38 years of marriage when we didn’t have half a dozen or so 8 oz. Pyrex monkey dishes. Gilda broke one a couple of weeks ago, so she asked me to look for some more in the store. I found a set of four slightly smaller dishes, not Pyrex, but more or less the same, with the added benefit of removable plastic tops.

End of story? Not really, given my belief that inanimate objects have a mind of their own. They always know when you have a little extra cash on hand, or when you’re going to replace them. They send messages. They seek revenge (http://nosocksneededanymore.blogspot.com/2009/10/iminginanimate-messaging.html).

So I wasn’t too surprised earlier this week when another Pyrex dish shattered as I was trying to balance it atop papers I was carrying in from the TV room.