Sense-itivity
The same psychology doctoral candidate from my previous post will have already researched a master’s thesis into the effects of captivity on the senses.
Let’s have a look…
There is no doubt our sense of sight is weakened when we are in quarantine as all it has to do is regulate itself on the fixed focal distance of the bed to the television on the wall, with a little variation in staring at a computer screen from your lap or at a hand held book or kindle. That’s it for our eyes.
As for taste, the monopalate of hotel food with the occasional taste sensation of an ubereat McDonalds …well…’nuff said.
The sense of smell can adapt and learn to ignore the continuum of the same odour for 14 airless days , but let me say that I certainly hope that this is true for the poor souls that have to clean and fumigate these rooms after we’ve been in them for 2 weeks. Unfortunately, I imagine that each room leaves its own olfactory imprint, such it is that us humans all smell different and use different chemicals to mask that smell. Those hazchem suits are not exclusively for protection from the deadly Covid19.
Touch? Nothing to say, unless it’s a young couple quarantining in one of these rooms. Then there might be lots to write about. But let’s keep it G rated.
And that leaves us with hearing. The big winner in the quarantine senses stakes.
My wife complains that I don’t hear well, and I rebut by claiming that selective hearing is a recognized medical condition. If she was with me in my hotel room, she would see that I hear fine.
The most important aural input, thrice daily, is the knock on the door at meal time. We plan our day around it. “What time will lunch come today?” we ask ourselves. But over the 8 days I’ve spent here so far, I’ve learnt to identify the patterns and styles of the different, unseen knockers. There’s the lady who taps three times on the door with what sounds like a pen, not a knuckle. Short and concise. Get me away from here as soon as possible. Then there’s the assertive, strong knock and confident monosyllabic announcement “dinner”, with the certainty that this will be the gourmet pinnacle of our lives. I don’t have the heart to disappoint him. My own disappointment is enough. Sometimes they send out two workers to distribute the meals, as I her them talking and chuckling as they skip down the corridor, lightly knocking as a perfunctory distraction to their jaunt. Then there are non meal-time door knocks. If I’ve ordered more garbage bags, coffee, shampoo, cleaning materials, room service then they all come with a polite knock. Sometimes I’ll request two or three things, separately, just so I can hear more door knocks. Sad, isn’t it?
The other important sound, of course, is that of the hotel phone. Vickie from reception, the nurse asking if I have any Covid symptoms, the social worker asking if I haven’t gone any more coo-coo than I was already, Chris from IT solving slow internet issues. And I get calls from family and friends on the hotel phone, too. They know the name of my son already at reception. This is the most I’ve used a land line in the past ten years. And then we have our cell phones providing bells, dings, and chimes for messages and alerts from different media and of course ringtones for calls. My ears are ringing.
There are a few other noises to round off the sounds of quarantine. As children we were always taught that there are certain natural sounds that are not accepted in polite society. When you’re by yourself for two weeks, polite society isn’t really a concern, so you can allow yourself to, emmm, express yourself, as nature allows but society doesn’t
And finally, I don’t want to dob anyone in here, but sometimes I think I hear a few inmates, sneaking some pedestrian activities, getting a few lungfulls of illegal air, up and down the hall in the middle of night. Good on ‘em.
In another week I’ll be a free man and my senses can return to the way they’ve been used these past 61 years. Until then, I’ll continue to navigate through quarantine sensual deprivation.