I remember the silence in Greenwich Village on September 11th, 2001. No honking, no braking buses, no street chatter. The quiet at Berlin’s Tegel airport on Friday, March 13th was familiar. We stood solemnly in lines snaking around the airport to check luggage and go through passport control. Transactions took place at whisper level.
The most powerful silence lasted nine hours. No one talked on the flight to Newark. Suffering babies blasted us with cries but that was it. We were glued to our screens, sanitizing our seat-backs, washing our hands, quietly panicking as we prayed to arrive safely into a new normal.
But today, as I was awakened by the sound of granite grinding at the hands of workmen outside my bedroom, I felt a sense relief. Typically, I’d be pissed. How could I be the lucky one to have my line of apartments worked on just as the 14-day self-isolation was only in its 3rd day (since I traveled from Germany, I’m in this camp)?
But I feel comforted.
The COVID-19 crisis is so terrifying that the loud grinder noise is welcome. These are guys just doing a job on a Monday morning. The work means they will get a paycheck. It means things are not all grinding to a halt.