Isn’t it natural? Even with the latest “trusted ten” allowance, seeing friends right now is sketchy, inconvenient business, especially now that B.C.’s “third wave” has effectively scrambled the provincial government’s messaging on what’s safe and what’s not. In-person group events are obviously a hard pass, and you can only squeeze so much joy out of digital gatherings before Zoom fatigue bloodsucks it out of you.
Of course, we all have our mandatory errands and commitments. But in terms of leisure activity, we’re really skimming the bottom of the bag for options — and, much as I hate to go all neoclassical economics here, the value of something does tend to rise with its scarcity. Put bluntly: your cup of coffee means a lot more when it’s all you can leave your house for.
Freshly baked scones used to be a line on a long list, a moment I’d take for granted. Now, they tie together all the social oases of living in lockdown. Positive chatter at the cash register, tasting sugar and salt in the sun and the breeze. Miniature victories, sprinkled through a year-long parade of miserable news. Yet through the Ramadan fast, I’ve temporarily given up those socio-culinary moments and replaced them with personal, spiritual reflection. Silly though it might sound, in feeling their absence, I’m reminded to properly value their rising importance.
(I should acknowledge that I say the above will full awareness that right now, B.C.’s take on “lockdown” is awfully light, which creates plenty of its own complications. But that might be a subject to dissect properly another time.)
I’m not the first person to notice this, either. In particular, the salvaging social dimension of food and hospitality has drawn some attention throughout COVID-19. Last year, one Ontario writer coined the term “microdosing on socialization” to describe the positive impact of our small contacts with coffee shop workers, servers, et cetera. Closer to home, the Vancouver Sun reported on local bakehouses fostering a stronger sense of community in their neighbourhoods, after the pandemic prompted renewed efforts to link with locals. Most recently, The Walrus ran a piece called “The Lack of Small Talk Is Breaking Our Brains,” which cited research on how pleasant chit-chat with baristas can feed customers’ mood and feelings of community belonging.
This isn’t to romanticize essential workers, nor is it to paint the people working in food and hospitality right now only in terms of the jobs they perform in their communities. Rather, it is important to recognize the multiple dimensions of not just the value they create, but more importantly, the labour they are tasked with, now more than ever.