I had lunch with someone I knew from high school the day before lockdown started. She was pooh-poohing the threat posed by covid and frankly, she thought I was a nut. (Fox News viewer, I think.)
I used to really like her.
I said the pandemic was going to last at least a year. (She thought that was an exaggeration.) I told her by the time it was over, there could be a million dead.
“In the whole world?” she asked, skeptical.
“No, in the U.S., ” I said, calculating on the fly. “At least another million in the rest of the world.”
She told me she was doing well in commercial real estate. “You might want to consider going back to residential,” I said. “People won’t be going back to the office for a long time.”
“Oh, you’re crazy,” she said. Because she thought I was.
It’s not as if I was happy about it. And as it turns out, I was right.
Bloggers often are. We read too much, we obsess too much, and we analyze too much. It’s why so many people hate us. We’re annoying.
