I suppose we are all on high alert. I started rehearsal for “Antigone” at the Cleveland Play House on March 3rd and the show was cancelled ten days later on Friday the 13th due to the looming coronavirus. (Hark! Is that the sound of a Greek chorus I hear?) I boarded a flight back to Miami a day later and while taxiing to the runway, someone about 4 seats in front of me sneezed 3 times in a row and, without missing a beat, 20 collective voices rose in unison with a rousing “Oh no!” The tension in the air was palpable. This invisible, silent, odorless, tasteless menace was getting traction.

It was a curious 3-hour flight home. I thought I heard the flight attendant sniffling, so, though tempted since I hadn’t eaten lunch, I didn’t touch the little bag of pretzels he put on my tray table. He asked if I’d like him to open my can of Ginger Ale and I said no thanks. I slathered the can with my hand sanitizer, popped and poured, and nursed the drink all the way home.

Since I don’t drive and spend a fair amount of time in my house under normal circumstances, I figured spending 14 days in isolation was no problem and might be a reasonable precaution since I had just been interacting with a plucky bunch of wonderful actors. I also had recently shaken hands with a friendly cashier at Susys Soup & Deli. (The corned beef on rye was excellent.) And then all the airport personnel and the plane ride and, well...you get it.

Now that I’ve passed the 14-day suggested stay-at-home plan and developed a bit of cabin fever, I’ve been reflecting on just how a blind person effectively practices social distancing. It’s difficult to measure 6-feet away by sound only. You can’t always rely on others to practice proper distancing for you. Based on a voice, are they 5-feet away, 4 or 6-feet? Or when that breath ball hits you from someone laughing at your joke, just how far can laughter-breath travel before evaporating into not so thin air?

I thought I might keep a 6-foot wad of string in my pocket and toss it out to anyone talking with me and then ask them to back up until the string was taut, but decided against it as it might launch some laughter and another breath ball that could swiftly waft my way.

I am 6 feet tall and try to keep people at a distance based on a projected factor equivalent to my height. At best, a questionable calculous.

And navigating the out of doors? When you don’t work with a guide dog or use a white cane but rely on a sighted guide, how does a blind person and the guide get 6 feet apart whilst taking a stroll? Or if you’re a wheelchair user, how to go for a roll in the park? Wow! What perfect aim if the person pushing your chair coughs or sneezes – you’re right in the line of fire.

I continue to do my pushups and deep knee bends at home and look forward to the day when I can take a peppy walk with a sighted friend. Until then, I’ll tell my jokes on the phone.

Keep smiling and wash your hands.

Steve Gladstone

The Blind Dude