Omicronned: The Red Tile Menace

I wasn't entirely surprised when my corona warn-app went from green to red the morning after I returned from Paris. I'd only been in the train station about fifteen minutes, mostly in an open-air part of the station, but I was indeed guilty of taking a train from a remote, non-coronaed region to the city where everything-- including corona--is lit. 

That was on January 7, and my son kindly walked me through the streets to avoid the Metro, explaining the peculiarities of France's corona laws, which make everyone on the street wear masks. But in the 500-seat university lecture hall in which he's currently compelled to attend classes, people sit cheek by jowl, and some of those jowls are not covered by masks. Germany, on the other hand . . .  a scholarly disquisition on the science of German mask rules flowed forth, and I agreed, wishing I could be half as articulate. Paris was lovely, and I picked up a delicious mini goat-cheese-and-spinach quiche for the ride back, which was as perfect as only the French can make it. Of course I ate most of it outside, to avoid unmasking in a train, but once the train car was nearly empty, I indulged in the rest. 

Maybe that's when the incident incurring my red tile occurred!

Back in my German city, I tested negative for days . . . but then another red tile appeared on January 14. The tram? The open-windowed-only-three-people-ever-there-large-university gym? 

I'll never know, but ever since then a number of sober, masked, careful Germans have experienced the red-tile panic and interrogated themselves, as if searching, like a nerds brainwashed by Kendi & co, for an evil moment. 

"You haven't done anything wrong," I have reassured several parties. 

Myself, I have sometimes failed in the ultra-vigilent moment. On a freezing, rainy day I entered a dry cleaners and was so focussed on closing my umbrella, enjoying the warmth, feeling my hands defrost, and speaking loudly enough to be heard over the machines that it took me a moment to realize the woman behind the counter wasn't wearing a mask. She did have a plastic shield up between her and me. Her colleague, steaming shirts in a corner (that corner was 2 meters away) wasn't behind a plastic shield and wasn't wearing a mask.

But I kept mine on. Oh, what a good girl am I.