Confessions of a Germophobe: My Autistic Perspective on Three Years of the Pandemic

“I wish the ring had never come to me. I wish none of this had happened.” “So do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us.” – Frodo Baggins and Gandalf the Grey, The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring

As March of 2023 draws to a close, I find myself thinking back to this time three years ago, when the pandemic was in full swing, spreading pestilence and death upon the world. As such, I thought I’d ruminate on the pandemic from the perspective of an autistic germophobe. Anybody who’s interacted with me in person after 2003 is most likely aware of my constant use of hand sanitizer and hand washing. For years, I was teased about this by my family and friends.

However, I wasn’t always a germophobe. Prior to 2003, I’d wash my hands before meals or after handling doorknobs, subway poles, etc., but I wasn’t paranoid or terrified of germs. That is, until living through the SARS epidemic of…you guessed it, 2003, in Toronto. That was the year my germophobia was born and a bottle of hand sanitizer has been by my side ever since.

Being on the spectrum, I’ve known anxiety my whole life. While everybody experiences anxiety, stress, and fear of the unknown, these feelings are magnified tenfold by my disability. As such, I never fully got over SARS and hoped I’d never have to live through anything like that ever again. I developed a fear of hospitals, doctors’ offices, and any other enclosed space where infectious diseases and viruses congregate.

Believe it or not, I used to have lunch at the former Burger King in SickKids Hospital, with that cool toy train circling the restaurant, in the late ‘90s and early ‘00s. I stopped doing so following SARS, and generally avoided food courts whenever possible. I started using hand sanitizer or washing my hands immediately after touching or handling anything. These overly hygienic habits became the norm for me. Still, I remained hopeful that I’d never have to live through another SARS-level epidemic.

When 2020 first rolled around, I was excited for the start of a new decade and being able to say “the roaring ‘20s” again in a modern context. I was especially looking forward to enrolling in driving and swimming lessons, seeing some highly anticipated movies at the cinema, watching the planned Nintendo portion of the Tokyo Summer Olympics’ opening ceremony, and going on a family trip somewhere cool. I felt it was going to be a good year.

Then, it started. Reports of a mysterious new SARS-like virus. Before long, cases were spreading throughout the world. This was eerily familiar to me, and I was getting nervous. Next, a cruise ship was stricken by the aggressive new virus and its passengers quarantined for several weeks. Cases continued to climb globally.

This new virus, COVID-19, was quickly becoming an epidemic, and the infection rate and death toll were rising around the world. It soon became apparent that COVID-19 would reach Canada. Thankfully, my family and I moved away from the big city of Toronto a couple years before all this chaos. Still, despite now living in a small city, I knew it was only a matter of time before COVID-19 made its way here. Before long, the epidemic had evolved into a full-blown global pandemic, and our first state-of-emergency and lockdown were imminent.

By March of 2020, it was apparent that COVID-19 would continue to spread, mutate, and grow even worse. It appeared the return of the Medieval plague was upon us. With the rise in cases and growing death toll, it felt as though Nostradamus’ predictions about the end of the world were coming true, at least to overly anxious me.

Coming to terms with my overwhelming fear and knowledge that there would be no waking up from this nightmare for the foreseeable future wasn’t easy. Like Jack and Rose bracing themselves for their imminent plummet into the frigid sea in Titanic, I needed one last deep breath of normalcy before plunging beneath the icy waves of an uncertain future. I saw Sonic the Hedgehog in a nearly empty cinema, bought my annual McDonald’s Shamrock Shake, and enjoyed a meal in a deserted East Side Mario’s. Then, the first lockdown began.

All non-essential businesses were shuttered. Kids and teens had to attend school from home via Zoom, as did adults with work. At the stores that remained open, it was surreal seeing toilet paper, hand sanitizer, and food swiftly vanish off their shelves, as if doomsday preppers were holding a convention in town. Scalpers were even stockpiling said essentials to sell online at overly inflated prices.

If there’s a silver lining to this awful pandemic for me, it’s that I was already mentally prepared for it since 2003. Wearing face masks, social distancing, and navigating one-way aisles in stores were pretty much the only new aspects for me. As previously mentioned, for years, my family and friends teased me about my germophobia, hand sanitizer usage, and frequent hand washing. Now, they had to adopt the same hygienic habits they’d previously poked fun at me for. Like the pig who built his house of bricks, I was vindicated and ultimately had the last laugh, though it’s a karmic victory I never wished for.

Another silver lining I saw in those early days was the whole “we’re all in this together” camaraderie everybody seemed to be embracing. I also remember the public’s initial desire for a vaccine, and the frustration I experienced at being unable to book one due to shortages. Of course, this all changed when the pandemic morphed from a safety issue into a political one.

COVID-19 affected us all. Many people, our friends and family caught COVID-19, and we sadly lost an elderly relative to the virus, as was the case for so many other grieving families. As such, it disgusted me to hear conspiracy theories that COVID-19 was “fake”. I was also disgusted by the rise of racism, harassment, and assault against the Asian community, store and restaurant employees, and the mask-wearing public, respectively.

Some people refused to comply with federal and provincial COVID-19 mandates and restrictions. It seemed those people didn’t want to lose their individual freedoms to help others. Embarrassingly, all this toxicity culminated in a Medieval-style siege on our nation’s Capital and border blockades. Disappointingly, some people we thought we knew were also brainwashed into believing and embracing such hateful vitriol. All this deplorable behaviour has really shaken my faith in humanity, though I still try to see the good in (hopefully, most) people.

There’s not much else to say on the “new normal”. It’s rare to see anybody wearing face masks nowadays, there hasn’t been a new lockdown in quite awhile, and the mandates that sparked the siege of Ottawa and border blockades are mostly forgotten. Large public gathering spots, such as sporting venues, cinemas, gyms, museums, zoos, amusement parks, and performing art centres are all opened and drawing in crowds again. The tourism industry seems to be on the mend as well.

However, while COVID-19 appears to have slowed down, people continue getting infected, so it isn’t gone yet. As such, for the protection of myself and others, I continue masking in public. Honestly, I don’t care if I look “weird” for doing so, as I embrace weirdness. I also care about the health and safety of everyone.

Despite my continued vigilance and precautions, I’ve forced myself out of my comfort zone and now do things I used to enjoy, such as dining at restaurants, attending outdoor festivals, and visiting the tiny mall downtown, all at a respectable distance from others and while wearing my trusty face mask, of course. I even worked up the courage to make a day trip to the USA with my family.

While society is recovering, unfortunately, the cost of living is through the roof. Juan Luis Guerra was spot-on with his 1992 hit song El Costo de la Vida (The Cost of Living), and he accurately describes the state of the world today from far across the sands of time. If you understand Spanish, give it a listen, and watch the music video.

In closing, one final silver lining to the pandemic I’ve observed is that it’s proven I’m much stronger than I initially believed. This is probably the worst situation autistic germophobes like myself could find ourselves in, yet I’ve adapted to these dystopic times as best I can. I was already practicing all this pandemic hygiene years before everybody else, so it hasn't been as big a change in my routine as it possibly is for others. Hopefully, the time will come when COVID-19 is just a bad memory, like the Spanish flu a century ago, life returns to normal, and I’ll no longer feel the need to wear masks, aside from on Halloween. Until then, safety first. As always, love, peace, and chicken grease.

Facebook’s care button has been around since the height of COVID-19 in 2020 and continues to provide some much-needed virtual hugs to this day.

Fear and Loathing in Toronto: What the Hell Happened to my Hometown?

“Living in the city, you know you have to survive.” – Living in the City, Sonic R

I’m deeply saddened and disturbed by the news reports of the current crimewave gripping the Toronto Transit Commission (TTC), Toronto’s public transit system. These incidents hit especially close to home, as I’m a born and raised Torontonian. While I now live in a small city, I was always a pedestrian and I also used both the TTC and Government of Ontario (GO) Transit, a commuter train and bus system.

In fact, one of my jobs for several years was to verify the delivery of free newspapers throughout the TTC’s subway stations. I loved this job. Unfortunately, my happiness came crashing down when I was assaulted on a subway platform one beautiful summer morning. I suffered from this ordeal and was on sick leave for several months. During that period, the department I worked for was shut down and I was subsequently laid off. This was around the time that Toronto was becoming increasingly more gentrified, overpopulated, expensive, and dangerous. This wasn’t always the case, though.

Toronto in the ‘80s and ‘90s was a special place and time in the world. The city was cleaner, safer, more affordable, less congested, and had a funky vibe. There was a thriving artistic bohemian community near Queen and Spadina. You could see the CN Tower and Lake Ontario instead of just endless walls of high-rise condominiums. Downtown was chockfull of cool bookstores and record shops. The malls had something for everyone instead of just high-end boutiques. Local landmarks such as the long-departed Sam the Record Man, World’s Biggest Bookstore, and Honest Ed’s drew in crowds of tourists. It was a magical place.

Over the years, my family and I watched Toronto’s slow and gradual transformation into its current form. We stuck it out in the big city until a few years ago, when the escalating crimewave could no longer be ignored. We started having close calls. I was at Yonge–Dundas Square a few hours before a fatal shooting. I obliviously walked down Yonge Street during the van attack. We drove along Danforth Avenue on the day of the mass shooting. By the grace of God, we always managed to get out of the wrong place at the right time.

I never thought I’d leave the hustle and bustle of the big city. Unfortunately, Toronto had become too crowded, dangerous, and expensive. With my assault on the subway and our close shaves, we no longer wanted to tempt fate. It was time for us to throw in the towel, pack up, and leave the big city for a small one. Change is never easy for those of us on the autism spectrum, so my willingness to leave the only home I’d ever known tells you something of the dire situation there. Thankfully, we left Toronto before the pandemic hit, again, by the grace of God.

While we may now feel safe in our new home, we still worry for all our friends and family we left behind. Toronto’s crime and gentrification have gotten much worse in the years since we left. It’s an interesting paradox: a city for the rich under siege by gangs, criminals, and murderers amid a global pandemic. A place where excessive wealth and extreme poverty collide with little to no middle-class in-between. Perhaps I’ll do a more in-depth deep dive on this topic later.

It feels like Toronto has become increasingly more dangerous over the past twenty years. It’s a place where a serial killer stalked the gay village. Where gunshots rang out at the Raptors’ victory parade. Where a woman was immolated on a bus by a psychopath. Where a homeless man was savagely stabbed to death by a gang of teenaged girls. Where TTC commuters are now getting randomly attacked and have become victims of crime during their daily commutes. Modern day Toronto now resembles Gotham City. All that’s missing is the Bat-Signal and Batman himself.

In closing, I mourn the city I once knew and loved. I worry for our friends and family still living there. But I’ll always remember the Toronto of my childhood and teenaged years with great fondness. I listened to a CBC radio show or podcast awhile back that summed up the nostalgia of the ‘90s perfectly: “the Berlin Wall was down, and the Twin Towers were still standing”. Man, how I wish I had a time machine to go back to that simpler and safer world. I’d stay there if I could.

What the hell happened to my beloved city?