My corona

Who knew something that sounds like a Mexican pale lager could trigger mass self-quarantines, a bear stock market and wild conspiracy theories?

So much has been written about “novel coronavirus,” the insidious bug causing COVID-19, a disease that has infected tens of thousands of people and killed more than 4,000 as of this moment.

Not to worry, my friends. Sales of Corona (the beer, that is) are up. In fact, to help the cause, some theme-partiers in New Jersey threw a COVID-19 bash, complete with hazmat suits and Corona beer.

When life throws these East Coast optimists lemons, they make lemonade – or just stuff them in a bottle and pretend they’re limes. Pandemic humor.

The best advice I’ve seen comes from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, our nation’s health protection agency, which works to protect America from health and safety threats, both foreign and domestic. The CDC calls for simple acts of preparedness – and it doesn’t include stocking up on Charmin, Coca-Cola and Clorox. Instead, they say this:

Be calm. Don’t panic. Wash your hands. Don’t touch your face. Stay home if you’re sick. Avoid large crowds.

As a trained journalist, I know a little bit about a lot of things, so I’m no expert on anything — except perhaps “social distancing,” which I think I may have invented.

So, I’ll leave the science to our public health professionals.

What I do know about this pandemic is how it has affected Rebecca, me and our little corner of the world. And how much of an impact it has had on all aspects of our daily lives.

As my wise friend Cheryl E. says, “Once again, this shows you the things you can’t control, how fast this stuff can spread and how much power the consumer has over the economy. If you ain’t buyin’, they’re dyin’.”

Just in the past week, we’ve both received myriad emails from prominent people we’ve never met, businesses we sometimes frequent and services we use on a regular basis.

Here’s a short list, with my comments added:

Michigan Gov. Gretchen Whitmer (Our state’s in a state of emergency.)

Michigan Sen. Debbie Stabenow (Please forward this to five of your friends.)

AAA (Time to renew.)

AARP (If you received this email, then stop touching your face.)

American Heart Association (Get off the couch, and wash your hands.)

City Opera House (No shows, plus we apologize for sending that inopportune mass email about our season premier event with “IT’S PARTY TIME!” in the subject line.)

Consumer Reports (As usual, we’re on it.)

Delta Air Lines (Free flights to nowhere. Just kidding.)

Detroit Tigers (Opening Day delayed indefinitely; sadly, not the entire season.)

Due Venti (Curbside pickup may be the best way not to miss this local northern Italian restaurant’s seasonal favorites.)

Duluth Trading Co. (Get some air, and keep shopping.)

Hallmark (Use our germ-free ecard app.)

Hyatt Hotels (No idea why we received this one.)

Jazzercise (Wipe, dance, sweat, repeat.)

Kroger (Of course, we’re hiring.)

La Vida Massage (If you show up sick, you’ll get Rolfed by Helga.)

Michigan Schools & Government Credit Union (Um, we have this cool feature called online banking that you might want to try.)

SAGE Metro Detroit (Topic: “How coronavirus affects older LGBTQ adults.” Wait, what?)

Troy Community Center (We’re closed.)

Troy Public Library (See previous item.)

Troy City Hall (We may as well close, too.)

Vitamix (Nothing says pandemic like a Thieves blueberry smoothie!)

The Washington Post (“Democracy dies in darkness.” We told you.)

WordPress WordCamps (From Ann Arbor to Zanzibar, they’re canceled.)

Yesterday afternoon my beloved little saver, Rebecca, emerged from the basement with a giant box of Dunkin’ Donuts K-cups and a stack of plastic blue surgical masks.

“See, here’s why you should listen when I tell you not to throw everything away,” she said with that annoying retired teacher voice.

I guess we’re all set for Armageddon — or at least a mad rush on Keurig coffee.

Meantime, closer to home at our Troy Kroger, the bread shelves are empty, and anxious shoppers are scrambling for toilet paper, Coke and Clorox wipes.

The young cashier told me that some customers think store workers are lying about certain items being out of stock.

“As if,” she said, scanning my sad four-pack of toilet tissue.

Just then, I saw a tall guy in his 30s wearing a white surgical mask checking out at the next register. He left the store, pulled down his protective gear and … wait for it … lit up a cigarette.

Here’s to your health, dude.