Quarantine

Mount Foozle. Bindlestiff Range. Tepidstan.

And when the authorities do issue guidance or directives, they can seem contradictory or illogical.

“We’ve been told everything from it was OK to go out, to we had to sign a release that we’re housebound now,” said one of the women who received an isolation order and who spoke on the condition that her name not be published. “We’ve been told we don’t need to be tested, to we have to be tested. We’ve been told that someone’s coming to our house to test us, to ‘You’ve got to find someplace.’

NYT

So I'm at home, minding my own business,
when this jamoke bangs on my door
and slips a piece a paper under it.
"Sign this!" he shouts at me.
"What the hell is it?" I shout back at him, 
not bothering to open the door.
"Quarantine order. You gotta stay
isolated for the next six weeks.
Don't go anywhere.
Don't see anyone.
Wash your hands once an hour."
I sign and shove it back under the door.
I'm a good citizen and a decent guy.
Nobody's gonna get sick cuz of me.
"Thanks!" the guy shouts at me;
then I hear his footsteps running down 
the hallway.
He is in one hell of a hurry to get away.

My front door is crap,
so there was plenty of room
for the pizza guy to slide one
under the door without me having
to open it.
So I didn't starve.
I called my boss, told him the news;
he puts me on administrative leave,
with pay.
Netflix has a bunch of new shows.
So quarantined life is good.

Then, five days later, there's another loud knock.
"What?" I yell from the couch,
where  I'm watching a new zombie series
showing them as intelligent 
and caring decaying corpses
that want to end global warming.
"Quarantine's lifted!" said the voice
on the other side of the door.
"Go outside and get some fresh air!"
"Thanks!" I yelled back. "I will!"
I stayed inside for another six days --
I figured I needed the rest 
and my boss wouldn't miss me
that much.

When I finally stepped outside
the sun seemed way too bright
and the traffic noise was offensive.
A cop came up to me and asked
"Lemme see your papers."
"What papers?" I replied.
"Can't be on the street without 
a clean bill of health. Let's have it."
"I don't know what you're
talkin' about" I told him frankly.
"I been inside for the past two weeks."
"Oh" he said darkly, "one of THEM."
Then he clobbers me with his 
night stick and I run back inside.

I call the Department of Health,
tell them what happened;
they say it was all a mistake
and I should wait for my 
clean bill of health to come
in the mail.

That was three years ago.
I'm still inside.
Still having pizza delivered.
Still on paid leave.
My boss is an angel.