David J.
Danto
Business travel
thoughts in my own, personal opinion
eMail: ddanto@IMCCA.org 
Follow Industry News: @NJDavidD
NOT Traveling Blog, 4th
Week Of July
In 2014 I was voted
by USA Today readers as one of the top ten business travel bloggers in the
USA. Now mind you,
I turned out to be number ten on the list of ten, but I did make it on (with my
thanks to all those who voted.) Now
that we’re all stuck at home and not traveling, I had to think about what to do
with my blogs. I could stop writing them
entirely – waiting till we all get through the current COVID19 pandemic /
crisis. I could wax nostalgic and/or
complain about past trips. Or, I could
focus all of my efforts on my day job – growing the use of collaboration
technologies – especially in light of how many people are now forced to use
those tools for the first time. In
reflecting upon those choices, what I decided to do is compile an ongoing list
of observations during the crisis. Some
of these may amuse, some may inform, some may sadden and others may help. My goal will be for you to have seen
something in a different light than you did before you stopped to read the
blog. I was going to apologize for how
disjointed these thoughts may seem when put together, but then it dawned on me
that feeling disjointed is our new normal – at least for a little while.
As a kid born and raised in Brooklyn, I’ve never felt “proud” of living
in New Jersey. Yes, I was and am happy with my
decision to move here and raise a family – as the neighborhood I live in resembles
the Brooklyn I grew up in nearly six decades ago – but I’ve never been “proud”
to be here. That is of course till
now. Our Governor has made the tough
decisions throughout this pandemic (along with the Governors of nearby New York
and Connecticut) to keep us safe and do what’s right – even when those
decisions hurt. See the map below from https://covidactnow.org .
Or, to put that another way, I’ll share this anonymous posting
that’s been circulating on social media for the last few days:
Dear
America,
I live in a
part of the country that was once the epicenter of the coronavirus. To stem the
spread, we sheltered in place for three months. We didn’t go anywhere. At all.
We wore masks, bandanas, neck gaiters, anything we had on hand to keep each
other safe. We sewed homemade masks, held bake sales and fundraisers to buy
others, and donated our own supply — because there weren’t enough for our
healthcare workers and EMTs, Firefighters and police
officers. We wore gardening gloves to the supermarket when we ran out of latex
ones.
We crossed
the street to avoid each other and kept a six foot distance. We washed our
hands constantly, opened door knobs with our elbows and closed car doors with
our toes, made homemade hand sanitizer, wiped down everything with Clorox and
Lysol and bleach.
We isolated
ourselves from each other, even though it cost us companionship and intimacy
and socialization and the comfort of touch and hugs and kisses, and quite
possibly, our sanity.
We stayed
put because you were afraid that we would bring the virus to other states. We
were terrified, and acted like we weren’t for the sake of our children.
We stayed at
home even though we were furloughed, lost our jobs, had to close down
businesses, and went bankrupt.
We taught our kids at home while trying to be productive as we worked from home
– often in the same room, and at the same table.
Our friends
and family, coworkers, neighbors and front-line workers died in staggering
numbers. We couldn’t gather together to bury them, or to mourn.
We missed
weddings, funerals, births, bar mitzvahs, 50th anniversary parties and babies’
first birthdays, graduations, Easter, Passover, Mother’s Day and Father’s Day.
We cancelled the St. Patrick’s Day parade in New York City for the first time
in its 150-year existence. We watched Broadway go dark, Times Square sit empty,
Fifth Avenue go silent. We closed down all sporting events, missed spring
training and a day at the ballpark with our dads and our kids.
We put up
caution tape around neighborhood playgrounds.
We had to visit our 95 year-old mothers and fathers in nursing homes with a
cold, hard pane of tempered glass between us.
We didn’t
sleep for days. We cried, raged and bargained into our pillows at 3 a.m. We
developed headaches, muscle tension, anxiety and depression.
We made
wills, wrote down funeral plans. We couldn’t be with our loved ones when they
died alone in hospitals. We asked nurses and doctors to bend down towards their
hallowed ears and whisper our children’s names and our pet names for our
spouses and our everlasting love and our thankfulness that it had been them and
that they had chosen us and our steadfast promises that we would be alright and
that they would never be forgotten and that it was ok to let go even though it wasn’t
ok at all.
We did this
while you said it was just like the flu and that we were overreacting. We did
this while you mocked our precautions and said it wasn’t that bad. We did this
while you drank shoulder-to-shoulder in bars, swam in crowded pools, ignored
data and doctors and science for a beer and a burger. We did this while you
disputed our infection numbers and death tolls, as hazmatted
men wheeled body after body into refrigerated white trucks discreetly hidden
from sight in hospital parking lots. We did this while you protested about your
right to get a mani-pedi and a haircut. We did this
while you booked cruise vacations en masse, and
boarded planes to take advantage of cheap fares. We did this while you
criticized our governors for their “overaggressive” approach.
We did this
while you sent death threats to Dr. Fauci and others
in the medical field, skilled professionals who have literally taken an oath to
do no harm, and who have made it their life’s work.
We did this
while you coughed and spit on Starbucks and Home Depot workers getting paid by
the hour. We did this while you banged on shopping mall doors, screamed at its
workers, and demanded that they open for you. Because you need to shop.
And all you
had to do was wear a mask.
– NY, NJ, CT
*author unknown
Speaking of New Jersey, I received the following email from
one of the Atlantic City casinos I’ve visited in the last year or two:
“Book your midweek Safe-Cation” indeed. I still don’t think that it’s a “Safe-Cation”
but it is a damn sight safer than Las Vegas is nowadays. Atlantic City casinos require masks on
property at all times, do not serve food or beverages on the casino floor, only
allow restaurants with outdoor seating (or room service) and limit patrons to a
small percentage of capacity. Maybe “safer-cation”
would have been more accurate, but that’s only until out of state visitors from
new hotspots begin coming. Not all of Atlantic
City is open, as the Borgata – arguably the best destination there – which is
off the boardwalk – is remaining closed until the governor believes it is safe
for indoor restaurants again. Who knows
when that will be? Let me tell you – if I
had to attend a convention today I’d be a lot more likely to drive to a close
venue than risk flying to a state like Nevada where the casinos (and everything
else) opened way too early. If things
stay like they are today this might
represent an opportunity for AC to have a bit of a resurgence.
Finally, as I promised last week, here are more videos of past
things I wished I could do this summer. This one is Billy Joel from Madison Square
Garden this past February – one month before all performances in NY (and
everywhere else) would be shut down. Mr.
Joel is New York’s resident act – and puts on an awesome show (which I hope
will come back when things reopen.)
As always, please feel free to write to me with comments or
items I should add to a future Not Traveling blog (or if you just need someone
to write to.) Stay safe, be well, hug
those you’re sheltering with (but no one else) and do your best to stay
positive. We’re going to be in this for
a long while.
This article was written by David Danto and contains solely his own, personal
opinions.
All image and links provided above as reference under
prevailing fair use statutes.