“Frames,” the Quarantine, and Social Distancing

At 2 PM on Tuesday, March 25, 2020, I ventured out of my house to go to Whole Foods. I was tired of working on my laptop for such a long period. Since I needed a break, I was willing to take the risk. I took my purse, keys, hand sanitizer, and wipes.

As I drove down the main road, I saw a couple of cars. Since there was no traffic, no school buses, no construction on the road, I made it to Whole Foods in less than 10 minutes (during normal times, it can take me 20 minutes).

I arrived at Whole Foods, and there were fewer than 20 cars in the parking lot. I perfunctorily took my totes and grabbed a cart. I entered Whole Foods. I was stoic. The workers and customers were silent. The entire store was quiet. I walked down the aisles, happy that I was able to purchase chicken and half-half for coffee. I have to make my coffee now. No more Starbucks or Dunkin Donuts.

I proceeded to the check-out and paid for the groceries.

“Thank you,” then I left the store.

My trip to the grocery store reminded me of the protagonist of the short film “Frames,” where she goes through her daily routine with no human interaction. The only difference would be the social distancing aspect. When all three of them squeezed into the elevator, I cringed. Similar to the dystopian society in “Frames,” we live in our dystopia where we are quarantined in our homes, glued to our laptops or phones, avoiding any form of human interaction besides our family, while trying to escape an insidious virus that strikes anyone regardless of class, race, religion, or sexual orientation. Even a Prince is not immune to the coronavirus. (When Prince Charles tested positive for the coronavirus, it reminded me of Prince Prospero in the “Red Death.”)

I snapped back from my musing when I heard Governor Murphy on the radio, reminding me to:

“Wash your hand with soap for 20 minutes.”

“Cough or sneeze into your arm.”

“Stay six feet from each other.”

Similar to the protagonist, I was wearing a bright yellow scarf with black yoga pants, a black North Face jacket, black sneakers. Color symbolism and juxtaposition of color imagery are important elements of the film. The protagonist’s home is clean, neat, functional, and sterile. Her world is black and white devoid of warmth, color, and light. In contrast, today was a crisp and sunny but just as sterile as the protagonist’s world. The other important color was red, which was the color of the two red chairs. The two red chairs symbolize the human interaction and warmth that the protagonist needed in the cold world. Since she was unable to achieve human contact, she dropped off from the grid.

Sadly, no one cared. And that is the cost of a society that loses its humanity to machines to viruses to natural disasters to wars.

During the worst of times, we cannot lose our connection with others. In the film, the only moment of happiness is when the waitress smiled when the protagonist gave her a $5000 tip. In this surveillance capitalism, human transactions are commercial. In her book The Age of Surveillance, Shosanna Zuboff contends that the capitalists are interested in selling our personal data. We are now the commodity. We are tracked, ranked, sorted, and sold.

When I arrived safely home (perhaps similar to Odysseus arriving home to Ithaca), I was happy to see my three children. I was grateful that my daughter is home from college and that my husband is feeling better and resting in the bedroom. Then I started contacting everyone I knew to see if they were okay. Similar to the protagonist, I craved genuine human connection — an emotion one cannot get from work, technology, or money.

Then I thought about people who did not have family or loved ones. I thought about people who are alone, lonely, and depressed. What will happen to them?

What is the human cost of this pandemic?