Monday, March 16, 2020

The line at the small computer shop stretches out the door. Some people have carried chairs outside to sit in while they wait. On most evenings, the shop has the same number of customers, all standing and sitting inside. They form an invisible queue. Customers, coming in, call out “Who is last?” and declare themselves to be in line behind whoever answers. Tonight, though, everyone is trying to stay two meters apart, so the crowd has spread out, like dots painted on an expanding balloon. When it’s my turn, I stand at a spot marked in white tape about a meter away from the service desk. The store has the Ethernet and HDMI cables that I need. The worker asks for my phone number to look up my customer record. When he hears me say it slowly (I still am unsure when it comes to numbers), he says “Let’s do English. It will be faster.” He isn't touching credit cards. The customers before me read him their names, numbers, and expiration dates. It takes a long time. I pay cash, stepping forward and placing a hundred-shekel note on the desk, then picking up the change that he places on the receipt. We wish each other a good evening as he rubs a large blob of sanitizer on his hands.