Who's Zooming Who

 I’ve already spilled the beans on myself that I am an inconsistent, mediocre secret keeper. I can keep other people’s secrets in lock box---UNLESS those secrets involve me--- then I’m all Little Miss Sink Ships with her loose lips.

I have a couple of very delicious secrets that I’m keeping firmly under my hat. And since I can’t talk about them yet—not directly, anyway---I thought I talked about things that are contiguous to them. 

Take, for example, Zoom meetings.

A couple of my secrets involve the necessity of attending Zoom meetings. In case there is anybody out there who has managed to stay blissfully unaware of what a Zoom meeting is—it’s like a cross between and in-person meeting and a conference call—audio AND video.

Years ago—before technology tracked us down in and rudely followed us into the shelter of our homes, a person could be at home and be reached only by an in-person visit or by telephone. You remember telephones—those clunky things that hung on our walls or set on desktops? They would ring and you would answer them and talk to people and NO ONE COULD SEE YOU? Good times, good times...

On a business phone call made from home, you could stay comfortably in your pajamas with no one the wiser. Oh, sure—there were those people who adhered to the Lipstick and Shoe Rule while on the phone---shoes on, lipstick on--so that one would sound professional, i.e. shoe-wearing-- but I fall squarely in the Bare Lip/Bare Foot camp. I’m pretty sure I can fake professionalism. My voice sounds like I’m wearing shoes.

Zoom video calls have ruined that. Now I have to take off my robe, put on Real Clothes, comb my hair and fake professionalism.

How's my hair?

Faking professionalism is a lot harder to do when I’m constantly confronted by my own, live, image. Instead of keeping track of what we are supposed to be talking about all I can think is “is that my hair? Does it really look like that? Dear God!” Zoom calls make me a nervous as a long-tailed cat in a roomful of rocking chairs. It takes all my will power to not to keep fidgeting with my hair.

Fortunately for me, I don’t have to fake crappy internet--and as such-- have a beautiful built in excuse to opt out of sharing video while zooming.

A Reckoning to Be Reckoned

A couple a weeks ago I made some rather bold statements about my hair. I said “When you shelter at home—who is going to see the whole hair mess anyway? Not to mention the later addition of masks—GENIUS! No haircut, no mascara—no problem! Put on a mask when you go out in public and voila! No one can recognize you!  It’s like putting glasses on Superman—no one knew who he was! Secret Identity! Also, she stopped wearing contacts and only wore glasses—so exactly like Superman! Maybe she IS Superman!”

I completely forgot to consider that acquiring food requires going out in public—and that can entail social distancing--standing in line six feet behind another person, for an extended period of time. Or in this case, six feet IN Front of someone.

Last week I was standing in my socially approved line at the grocery store when a male voice behind me said “I really like your hair.”

 Thank you, I replied, with a quick glance of acknowledgment over my shoulder, a smile under my mask.

“Did you know?” the voice continued, “Many of the Ladies’ Hair Salons are now back open for business.”

Uh. Thank you, I guess?

Clark, possibly Clark Kent--
more likely Clark Grisswald.

He then proceeded to tell me exactly which salons in five block radius were open. Bless his little darling heart. I suppose I should be thankful he didn’t offer to call and make an appointment for me, then and there—as though I were on some sort of hidden camera Hair Intervention show. The kind where they accost people, just minding their own, and hijack them into a beauty salon that specializes in lost causes and hopeless cases. Six hours later they reveal the New and Improved You to your disbelieving circle of family and friends.

Superman never had to put up with that crap—but Clark Kent did. In my rush to embrace my secret identity, I had completely forgotten all the comments Mr. Clark had to endure. Hashtag Super Hero Problems.

As my friend Philip would say, “It ain’t easy.”