World order is all about etiquette

Boredom means the days are merging into one another.

The monotony of isolation gets on people’s nerves almost as much as the actual people they’re isolated with. And yet, even our limited social interactions are producing novel anxieties.

It was my turn to do the ‘‘death run’’ yesterday. This is how our household now describes the weekly supermarket shop. Gloved, masked and armed with a mostly useless packet of antibacterial wipes, I entered those big glass doors in my hometown of Sydney with a deep inhale.

Unfortunately, I caught a whiff of some strong disinfectant that subsequently set off an enormous coughing fit. Fellow shoppers stared at me in horror as I unsuccessfully tried to communicate virus-related-innocence with my eyes.

Shortly after, I reached for the single remaining carton of cage-free eggs in the refrigerated aisle. I have no peripheral vision in my left eye and so genuinely did not see the woman beside me, simultaneously grasping for the same shelled dozen.

I wondered if there would be an infamous fisticuffs moment like I’d seen on the news. Keen to avoid such a scene, I said: ‘‘Oh please, you take them’’ to my grocery buying nemesis. She snapped back: ‘‘No! Not now that you’ve touched them.’’ I meekly placed the befouled eggs into my trolley.

Buying coffee has become a similarly fraught gauntlet of social confusion. A friend was involved in an incident where another customer grabbed their takeaway coffee by mistake. The barista immediately took it back, tipped it out, threw away the cup and began making a new one.

I’m struggling to navigate personal anxieties about the recently unclear depth of my barista friendships. I am following the strict ‘‘order and wait outside for your coffee’’ rule to the letter.

It’s hard, however, not to read social mistrust into this social distancing measure. There is no way of confirming whether missing out on friendly morning banter with my barista is pandemicrelated or that they simply don’t like me any more. The isolated brain fills in blanks with a firm negativity bias.

Next come the interactions with people we know and generally like but who have a wildly different tolerance for corona-related risk.

How do you maintain polite chit-chat with the neighbour who crosses to your side of the road and inches closer, with flagrant disregard for the twometre rule?

How do you respond to a relative who insists a weekend away at their beach house is essential ‘‘dealing with stress’’ business?

And what of mates who think hosting a dinner party for four – instead of a barbecue for 18 – counts as isolation?

One of my mates has termed appropriate physical distancing as akin to ‘‘urinal’’ rules. Having never used a public urinal, I needed this explained over WhatsApp.

He said it boils down to being polite and friendly during all personal interactions but avoiding long conversations. Never get too close, keep your eyes to yourself and don’t touch anything you don’t absolutely have to.

It’s this kind of clear, concise summary the government should consider for its next public information campaign.

Perhaps it’s worth establishing some new social rules as well. Some clarity on who should step off the footpath and let others through, and whether it’s vain to use filters to boost your attractiveness on Zoom, would be much appreciated.

But in the meantime? I’d better dash. My Skype meeting was booked to start five minutes ago and I’m not sure how late is acceptably late any more A new world, indeed.

Fellow shoppers stared at me in horror as I unsuccessfully tried to communicate virus-relatedinnocence with my eyes.