My Very Own Apocalyptic Shitposts

April 4, 2020

Apr 182020

There was hardly anyone outside at midnight, save for the occasional ambulance. The pandemic had crept along for a month now, and it was a miracle he hadn't been infected. A 40-year-old diabetic with no health insurance who regularly crossed into Tijuana for everything from cheap insulin to dental work. A food delivery driver who had unwittingly delivered to emergency rooms filled with coughing veterans and nursing homes mere weeks before the waves of death passed through.

He was certainly stupid or desperate enough to be one of the first choking on a ventilator until his lungs stained red. Yet despite his lack of luck, skill, ambition or some variation of the three, he hadn't coughed once. Why was he still alive? He barely even wanted to be.

If there was a god - which there most certainly wasn't - he might think the Powers That Be kept him alive because fate had some grander purpose in mind, but life doesn't work that way. Even very kind and thoughtful people sometimes get run over on the way to volunteering at the soup kitchen. He contributed nothing to society other than occasional bowel movements, in which he used at least three times as much toilet paper as any rational person. Yet he was still here.

While he had rarely been useful, in the past he'd at least been middle class, skilled enough to feed the credit card companies. Yet he wasn't even good for that anymore. His paperwork pushing, do nothing office job - granted to all white college graduates as a mildly depressing but welcome privilege - wasn't needed anymore. None of them were. "Office coordination" is not a skill. No one needs help emailing another person or answering their own phone, for fuck's sake.

Not social enough to network well and not handsome enough to be an exotic dancer, he had dwindled through life until it flushed him down the cracks to the service industry, where he now delivered food to people who rightfully tipped him nothing. Every week he spent another 50 long hours and 600 miles ruining his own car. If he was lucky, he might earn 800 dollars, breaking even on expenses.

Do the math, idiot. He had, but it was better not to think about finances. This was "just temporary", after all. Someday a mysterious call would come out of nowhere to save him and put him back in an office. That's what he told himself, anyway. Maybe it would, maybe it wouldn't. Life rarely follows expectations or shows its hand.

But he was alive, for some reason. Praise the lord and pass the White Claw. Another useless Gen X nitwit would survive another day.

March 25, 2020

Mar 252020

We're not even a week into the national stay at home order and packs of shitbag capitalists are already foaming at the mouth for poor people to get back to work. When this bare minimum of a quarantine ends in a week, they'll be beating the wardrums even harder. It's just a cold! Don't be a pussy! Just wash your hands a little harder!

Never mind that we're already out of respirators, masks, gloves and hospital beds before the first surge of this plague has even hit its peak. They don't care. The rich don't carpool, don't ride public transit, and don't interact with the public hundreds of times per day. They don't use the same elevator 100 other people have been in over the past 30 minutes.

I wonder if we'll wake up this time, or if the shiny gleam of seeing our shitty 401k plans recover a few weeks earlier will trick us into fighting against our own interests yet again.

March 21, 2020

Mar 232020

I needed a new battery for my car, and watched outside Pep Boys as a man in his 20s coughed repeatedly into the air, blew snot into a nearby garbage can without a tissue, and then used the door with a handle instead of the one right next to it that opened automatically. A few minutes later, one of the older mechanics also used the non-automatic door and then proceeded to pick his nose for a good 30 seconds once inside.

If you invite me to a gathering after this is all over and I show up wearing tissue boxes as shoes, rubber gloves up to my elbows and a space helmet, please be kind and know that I have my reasons.

March 19, 2020

Mar 202020

I got lucky. I buy insulin from Tijuana, Mexico because I don't have health insurance, and I managed to get a 3-month supply two days before they closed the border. Border patrol almost didn't let me through because I forgot to bring my prescription with me. Walmart sells older insulin, but I've had a seizure from that stuff in the past. I got lucky.

My only alternative would have been paying for health insurance, which is at best $300/month with a deductible so high that I would've been paying for everything myself the whole year anyway. Our next president, Joe Biden, thinks that's fine. He is a useless, bitter old cunt. I am too, which makes it weird that I dislike like him so much.

Oh well. At least I have toilet paper. The soft kind, too.

March 18, 2020

Mar 202020

I'm 40 years old, diabetic and a food delivery driver during the worst pandemic in hundreds of years. That makes me worry I might be dead soon, but knowing my shit luck I'll probably live forever. I have lots of debt, no savings, no health insurance and a pretty shitty demeanor.

Symptoms of caronavirus range from sneezing a few times while jerking off to anime porn (age 0-30) to a complete failure of the respiratory system (age 50+). We don't seem to know which people will get which outcome, with the exception of cancer survivors and smokers getting the worst of it. The entire state of California shut down today with the exception of essential services. The entire country will follow within a few weeks.

Last week, the streets of Los Angeles had much milder traffic than usual and it felt kinda nice. Now it's mostly me and the ambulances out there each night. I see other drivers when I pick up food from restaurants, but we stand on opposite sides of the room like cornered raccoons who desperately want to keep the pork chop we found.

I'm stuck between the decision of staying home and bankrupting myself or continuing to make $13/hr delivering food to people who just don't seem to give a fuck about answering the door while sick. The only joy of the job is DoorDash has no customer service, so unless I shit in a Carl's Jr bag and deliver it, I can't really be fired. Considering the tips we get, I wouldn't be surprised if others have attempted that. I guess that's us as a species.