Tory Shepherd: Hey covidiots, learn some covetiquette before it’s too late
Restrictions may be loosening, but that doesn’t mean our respect for people’s personal space should. Especially not when sweat, spit and dog poo is involved, writes Tory Shepherd.
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I am basically the Mrs Mangel of the Parklands at the moment.
Remember Nell Mangel? She was the old busybody in Neighbours who’d spy a young Charlene and Scott snogging and declare it smut, then tut.
She was a composite of every bitter old shrew that ever existed.
I’m all in favour of smut, but I’ve really got the tut down pat at the moment, because there is a cohort of covidiots out there who just don’t get covetiquette.
Adelaide’s parks are showing off their finery right now. Clear autumn mornings heralded by warbling maggies and flights of corellas. Green grass, blue sky, orange bunting stopping people from using the equipment.
How good are parks?
The Adelaide Parklands alone sport more than 40 parks, squares, and gardens. There’s ample space for our sparse population to gad about with the length of about three bin chickens (the ibis, for the pedant) between us.
But much as we love our parks, we’re not out of the woods. Not nearly, when it comes to this pandemic. So it’s important to maintain covetiquette, even in the great outdoors.
Personal training groups are back, which is absolutely fine as long as they a) don’t bring ghetto-blasters to pump dodgy beats at 6am and b) don’t take up the whole path.
When there’s a group together, in that crisp autumn air, you can actually see the droplets coming from their mouths and noses and sweat, forming a cloud for the rest of us to run through. Nobody should have to traverse snot fog in these times.
Other rapscallions taking up the whole path include congregations of four-abreast Lorna Janes, whose enormous caffeinated accessories slow their progress to a crawl.
Another space invader is the type that simply must overtake a scrappy jogger like me – even though they’re going at the same pace.
I guess the idea of languishing behind a middle-aged woman with bunions and a bung knee is just too much for the old ego to bear.
These guys surge past with arms flailing and chest out as though they’re about to push through a finish line … only to slow right down as soon as they’re in front.
It’s vaguely annoying in normal times, when I’m left in the slipstream of their body odour or Lynx. Now, I’m more worried about the stream of particles coming from their mouths and floating towards mine.
One of the added problems with avoiding the moist air coming from the fitness fanatics is that there is noticeably more dog poo lying around. The longer grass is a minefield if you have to dodge the funk. Who doesn’t pick up after their dog? Maybe it’s newbies who don’t know better.
I often see people too busy checking their phones to keep a proper eye on their furballs.
A mate suggested maybe people don’t want to fiddle around with the free bag dispensers that might be harbouring nasties. I suspect it’s entitled numpties who (metaphorically, obviously) don’t give a crap.
There’s no excuse. Just because you can’t see it, doesn’t mean my shoes can’t find it.
While I’m on dog etiquette, there are a few folks using those long, near-invisible retractable leads on their pooches. Like a neat little garotte for your shins. Short leash, folks, please.
And what about dog-to-dog contact? There is some anxiety around about whether pets can carry COVID-19.
All the science says the risk is low, but not zero. Each to their own on this one but if you think I’m walking the mutt equivalent of Typhoid Mary, keep your Bouncer on his leash. No point looking panicked after the butt sniffing has started.
And, finally – not lastly, because I could go all day, but I’m running out of room – bikes.
I am not one of those cyclophobes, no way. But would it hurt you to use a bell on a shared path? Does it mess with the aerodynamics? Do the dinky little bike bells not match your head-to-toe Lycra?
All it takes is a friendly little “ding” to let me know you’re hurtling along at 30km/h and about to pass within 20cm of my right elbow. I can move out of your way – and your slipstream.
I promise I’m not just a grumpy old biddy frustrated by the youth of Ramsay St and pudgy old Harold’s lack of attention. There is a very real concern that, as well as things are going, we’ll be hit by a second wave of this nasty virus.
The Federal Government is flicking the switch to the economy, now, focusing on getting everybody back to work. It must be tough, seeing a $4 billion dollar hit to the economy every week while we’re all in iso. It’d be harder to see an outbreak get out of control. This thing could stagger back like a bad soapie reunion.
Mrs Mangel used to tut at people kissing – but if you hear me tutting in the park, it’s from fear of inhaling your fuggy breath.
Tory Shepherd is a columnist for the Adelaide Advertiser.