‘Stress Positions’ Recaptures Peak COVID-Era Anarchy in NYC
Is this a safe space for a confession?
Well, thank you. Just between you and me: I never banged a pot or clanged a pan during the pandemic. I did not once go up to my rooftop, nor stick my head out the window, to slam two pieces of metal cookware together so that the brave—and I don’t use that word sarcastically—health care workers might hear it and feel celebrated from afar. It’s not that I think the show of appreciation and solidarity was corny, or that I didn’t agree with the sentiment. I was just too preoccupied with stewing in my own psychological ruin. Every day was already spent worrying about masking, the health and safety of my family and friends, wiping down groceries (which I did for far longer than I ever needed to), and a litany of other microscopic inconveniences that had been completely unimaginable just weeks before March 2020.
And, on top of that, I was expected to fuck up my cookware every night at 7 p.m.? Not a chance.