What did we learn from COVID?
Lessons from the Loo Roll Fiasco
In the grand, bizarre theater that was the COVID-19 pandemic, we stumbled upon some truths about humanity that were as startling as finding out your quiet neighbor is a karaoke champion. Take, for instance, the great toiletpapergate saga. Who knew that the thread of civilization hung by the delicate ply of toilet paper? The night our leader suggested we stockpile supplies, the world turned into a scene from a dystopian novel, with me, the unsuspecting protagonist, navigating through a maze of frantic shoppers and barren shelves. It was a moment that could have easily been narrated by Morgan Freeman, highlighting the fragility of our society.
Amidst the chaos, we learned some hard truths about ourselves. The ability to admit one might be wrong became as rare as a serene supermarket aisle. And personal space? Well, let's just say the pandemic made the concept of a 'personal bubble' more popular than ever. Suddenly, being a hermit didn't seem so out of fashion.
The term "hero" got thrown around a lot, but it quickly became apparent that it was just a polite way of saying, "Thanks for risking it all, but don't expect a parade." And as much as we hate to admit it, the pandemic was like holding up a giant mirror to society, reflecting our collective ignorance and stubbornness.
Healthcare, the silent backbone of our society, finally screamed for attention, demanding an overhaul. And many of us realized that maybe, just maybe, we had been putting our careers ahead of our families. The lockdown, as harsh as it was, became a surprising silver lining for some, allowing parents and children to rediscover each other beyond the usual morning chaos and bedtime routines.
Then there was the revelation that working from home wasn't just a lazy Friday luxury but a full-blown, effective way of life. Who would've thought that swapping office attire for pajamas wouldn't tank the global economy? Speaking of the economy, it turns out it's as sturdy as a house of cards, relying heavily on our insatiable appetite for things we don't really need, funded by money we don't actually have.
The environment took a breather for the first time in decades, and the unsung heroes of our daily lives – the grocery store clerks, delivery drivers, and healthcare workers – were finally recognized as the essential gears they are in the machine of society.
But, did we learn anything? Well, that's a stretch. As much as we'd like to think we've emerged wiser, history has a funny way of repeating itself. The thought of a more lethal virus in the future somehow brings a twisted comfort, promising a quieter world, albeit at a grim cost.
The pandemic exposed the cold truth that industries and some employers view workers as mere cogs in the machine, easily replaced and undervalued. The rallying cry for handwashing became a mantra, and the politicization of, well, everything, became our new favorite pastime.
We saw a surge in 'authoritarian management' as companies clamped down, squeezing every ounce of productivity out of their newly remote workforce. And as for the next pandemic, well, let's just say we're about as prepared as a toddler is for a marathon.
The zombie apocalypse analogy doesn't seem so far-fetched now, does it? With folks hiding their 'zombie bites' and concocting elaborate excuses to skirt safety measures, one can't help but wonder if a little thinning of the herd might be the universe's way of hitting the reset button.
And then there's the economic aftermath – companies hiking prices under the guise of divine intervention, with us, the ever-obedient consumers, nodding along, wallets in hand.
In the end, the pandemic was less about the virus and more about what it revealed regarding our societal psyche. It was a comedy of errors, a tragedy of commons, and a drama filled with unexpected plot twists. But most of all, it was a story about us, warts and all, stumbling through the dark, armed with nothing but hope, a sense of humor, and an inexplicable obsession with toilet paper.
