Coffee (and Love) in the Time of Corona
Photographs and thoughts made between March 12, 2020 and March 30, 2020.
I stopped at Kings Waffle on the way to Cleveland. It had been a day or so since the ‘take-out’ decree went into effect and barred restaurants from offering dining room service. Because I used to hang out at a Waffle House all the time, people often like to send me the “Waffle House Index.” I’ve gotten so tired of seeing the clickbait story that I had pretty much pushed it out of my thoughts as nothing but Facebook fodder—a repetitive tale of how FEMA can somewhat gauge the severity of a disaster based on whether or not the affected area’s local Waffle House’s are still operating. But then, the notion of that governmental gauging came back as I was ordering a large coffee, purposefully standing a good distance from the other people inside. We were amongst a global pandemic, a situation in which the index had never been tested.
I only knew one person in the restaurant that day (good to see you, Josh), but the other two employees spoke as if we all had some familiarity—like I was still a regular, not just a person who occasionally stopped in now and again. One said that the company had taken some steps to look out for the staff. There was some chatter about the pay scale, a policy I didn’t really understand in terms of implementation or potential duration. I was distracted from the conversation. Something felt different and it wasn’t solely due to the lack of salt shakers, condiments, and menus on the counter. I had been in this Waffle House at all hours and I’d spent countless moments as the only customer drinking coffee during slow times. The air on this day was different, though, like anxiety was swirling straight out of the old cigarette smoke stained vents and directly into our spoken thoughts.
In a brief visit, those few employees and I managed to have the same conversation that seemingly everyone else has been having in the last few weeks or minutes: what we’d heard, what we’d seen, what we all speculated might come next. It was unsettling seeing the “low counter” arranged with no accommodations. The chairs were gone, nothing allowed out that might encourage a patron to sit down and stay for awhile—a philosophy in total contrast to the store’s typically approachable demeanor and my own personal experiences. The sign on the front had read: four people in the store at a time, to-go orders only. I paid for my coffee, signed the receipt, and heard: “Thank you! That’s probably the only tip I’ll get all day.”
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| - Kings Waffle low counter. March 17, 2020. |
Besides our biological makeup, the COVID-19 pandemic may be the next closest thing everyone on the earth has in common at this time. We’re all susceptible to it and no matter where you are: it’s probably on your mind. And it’s going to stay that way: these events and circumstances will influence history, discussions, design, and many other facets of society in the years to come. As we’re all moving through this moment, everyone has their own localized, individual experience. I feel relatively lucky so far. I haven’t been sick or personally known anyone who has, my employment is seemingly secure, I’m not having to learn or teach remotely, and I’ve been taking the social isolation time to try and be as productive as I can (although, I’ve yet to finish those Waffle House stories). That’s not the case for everyone, though, and I want to make this clear: I absolutely recognize that. Fear and anxiety are rampant, not solely because of potential illness, but the fallout of the entire situation. It’s been said thousands of times on public radio, social media, and I’m sure uttered by many subconscious voices: “when is the other shoe going to drop?” We read stories of Italy, glue our eyes and ears to the Ohio Governor’s press conferences, and collectively wonder just what the hell places like Florida and Alabama are doing. All while debating if it’s better to ask “when are things going to get worse” rather than “will things get worse?”
—
EDIT: The Waffle House stories have resumed, even in an age of Pandemic.
The desire to write about my own experiences in what are likely only the early days of “social distancing” has been conflicting. At times I feel enthusiastic about it with a narrative in mind. Other times I wonder: what’s the point? Would my photographs really add anything? Would my words? Maybe I need to launch into a scathing tirade about the importance of trusting Science rather than the opinions of your high school gym teacher on Facebook? At this point, I’ve found myself atop an empty suburban parking garage, rambling away. I needed to get out of my house, I needed to be outside, and per proper precautions (and personal feeling): I didn’t want to be near anybody.
So, in traditional QC/D fashion (if there is such a thing), here’s what I’ve been seeing and experiencing.
Thanks for reading. I hope you’re listening to experts and not any misinformed acquaintances who claim “they know better.” Most of all, I hope you’re well.
March 12, 2020
There was a dramatic shift that day. COVID-19 was already confirmed to be in Ohio—but on this day, the parade was cancelled, emergencies were declared, and the then-most stringent government orders were issued. By night, it seemed as if the first wave arrived—an onslaught of people who had been oblivious to the news or dismissing the virus finally joining those of us who had been paying attention. I had to stop for gas and got curious, walking from the pumps over to the Kroger grocery. Shelves were picked over, all toilet tissue was gone, bottled water was scarce, and no hand soap could be found. Employees were doing their best to re-stock and people seemed generally harmonious, but they were quiet and the lengthy check-out line was filled with mute expressions. The lone voice came from a parent trying to explain to their child just why the line was so long, why the store looked so different.
March 13, 2020
The virus continued creeping into the consciousness, but seemed to take on a vampirish character. At night, the stores were desolate, the skies were dark. During the day: the sun was shining, spring was starting to show, and the gears of business were still turning even as warning signs appeared on digital highway boards and public transit.
At this point, restaurants and bars were still open for full business. On a Friday evening, we stopped at our favorite Thai place and found an empty dining room during what would normally be a dinner rush. In the nearby bars, though, you’d be hard pressed to notice anything different. If coronavirus was being discussed over a bucket of Miller Lites, it wasn’t getting the same reverence that West Side Cincinnati bar patrons were using to remind each other: today, you can’t eat meat. By the Lord's Day, all of that changed.
March 17, 2020
I had returned to the same Kroger and seen similar scenes to a few days before while grabbing my own supplies of canned goods and food.
Just in case.
I tried to be considerate and mindful: maintaining my distance, not taking more than I’d need, but all the while wondering if I was contributing to a larger issue, if it was even safe for me to be in that space.
I decided to head to Cleveland that night to be with Laura. Given the situation, I made no plans to detour in pursuit of shooting film. My only stops were for the aforementioned Waffle House coffee and a few rest areas where I’d vigorously be washing my hands anyway. I switched off of the hourly NPR news and caught up on some podcasts I’d been meaning to get to, shows that were produced before the virus was the subject of every episode on every show. For awhile, alone in my car, things started to feel normal. My vehicle had become my own form of social isolation, the pandemic and its attached anxieties not quite fully registering on what began to feel like any other trip throughout Ohio. Even with a full awareness of what was out there and rambling towards a destination that had featured the state’s first cases of COVID-19, I felt completely different compared to when I was wandering Kroger a few nights before and standing in that Waffle House just hours ago.
March 18, 2020
That car-bound comfort disappeared in the Northern end of the state the next day when we stopped by the Cleveland Clinic at E. 105th St. and Carnegie Ave. At the time, it was one of the very few drive-thru testing sites that were up and running in Ohio. Laura recalled that the scene had been crazy and chaotic the day before.
By the time I arrived, they were only testing those with a physician’s note. A masked- clad woman I talked to on the street had been turned away, while her daughter was admitted.
Things were relatively calm as the police instructed people where to go (or to leave) and a hazmat clad physician screened vehicles. Still, the scene was a bit unsettling. If the apocalypse had arrived, it sure picked a somewhat pleasant Wednesday morning to do so.
March 20, 2020
A few days later, once more on the hunt for coffee, we met Bradford. A lifelong musician and the manager of Rising Star on Lee Rd., he said he had still been receiving business from loyal customers who wanted to show support, but that there had been a noticeable drop in traffic. In the early days of mandatory take-out orders, he was spending a good portion of his time alone in an empty diner-turned-coffee-shop and had started to teaching himself the violin. He was kind enough to let me photograph him doing so.
March 21, 2020
We had gone back to Cincinnati the previous night, after my sister had her hand forced. With over a year of planning and work, her and her future husband were set to be married on March 28, 2020. At first, the news surrounding the virus had everyone worried that a few guests may not attend. Then that worry morphed into a hypothetical of just who would actually attend? And finally the question of whether or not such an event could even happen given the increasing restrictions. They were able to, thankfully, re-schedule for the fall—not that it made the situation feel much better. Still, they wanted to be married and made plans for a quick, intimate ceremony featuring only immediate family. As the news and national conversation changed daily, they even moved things up a week for fear that a “shelter in place” order might come forth. On March 21, 2020, they were married in a brief ceremony attended by a few who maintained distance in the pews. A handful of other relatives pulled up in cars afterwards to cheer on the couple from a distance. My grandfather wore his finest blue medical gloves.
March 22, 2020
News of a looming “stay-at-home” order and what that might entail came the next afternoon. I heard it on the radio while I was out making some photographs and documenting things. I used to work in the Kenwood Towne Centre, I knew how busy Sundays always were. No matter the weather, no matter the time of year—Sundays in the region’s most affluent mall were always a nightmare of crowds and retail regret. On this particular afternoon, the parking lots were empty. Many businesses had temporarily closed, but surprisingly the mall was still open. A few shops maintained commerce, but the vast majority of visitors were exercise walkers. I met Caty and Douglas while they were chatting on some seats, the two just looking to get out of the house for awhile, bummed that both the Starbucks across the street and the one within the mall were closed. Behind them, the Apple store stood empty with its glass doors sealed—a far cry for how the place would normally be at 2:40 PM on a Sunday afternoon.
In Downtown Cincinnati, Fountain Square stood empty aside from one or two people passing through. If you needed a parking spot in the city, you had an ample selection.
Over at The Cincinnati Museum Center, Union Terminal’s parking lot echoed Kenwood’s.
And up in Springdale, a Waffle House had taken to decorating their windows with paint to let potential customers know that they were in fact, still open for take-out. I purchased a large black coffee.
March 25, 2020
In the days since these photographs were made, the weather’s been nicer which seems to give a false sense of security. Whereas, the previous gray skies and cold temperatures seemed to match the mood surrounding the virus. Highway traffic is noticeably lower, but the amount of cars still out there does make one question: how many are really staying “at home?” There’s been a lot of talk about when Ohio and the nation will “get back to work,” but I keep coming back to the thought near the start of this writing: when’s that other shoe going to drop? Sunny skies can’t mask the reality of what’s happening in New York, New Jersey, and California.
March 28, 2020
Laura and I stopped by Kings Waffle once more. For the first time I’d ever seen in my life, maybe ever in the location’s history, the store was completely closed. Whenever discussion about the “Waffle House Index” had come up in the past there, the staff would point out that the doors didn’t even have locks. It truly would take a real disaster to close down a Waffle House, let alone one in the heartland far away from hurricane territory. Yet, on a warm afternoon that would’ve been a perfect day to grab coffee and enjoy a couple Camel’s out front: the door was fixed with a fresh padlock.
EDIT: The Waffle House stories have resumed, even in an age of Pandemic.
March 29, 2020
So this post ends with many still waiting, many still wondering, and many still struggling.
When I first sat down to write this, I was debating what to say and found myself putting off the idea—mindlessly scrolling through Twitter. Amongst all the noise, I came across some words from my friend Joe and I wanted to share his thoughts here. I feel they perfectly capture what’s on the minds of many at this particular moment in history.
March 30, 2020
In closing: Wash your damn hands. Listen to doctors. Read a book. And make an appointment to go give blood.
UPDATE: April 18, 2020
I stopped by the Wilmington Air Park to document how Delta Airlines was temporarily storing aircraft of its regional and international fleets in rural Ohio. That story can be read here.
UPDATE: May 7, 2020
Two F-16 fighter jets of the Ohio Air National Guard flew over Cincinnati area hospitals in a salute to frontline workers. That post is here.
Next Chapter: Waiting for The Lights
Previous Chapter: It's Been a Minute
—
The desire to write about my own experiences in what are likely only the early days of “social distancing” has been conflicting. At times I feel enthusiastic about it with a narrative in mind. Other times I wonder: what’s the point? Would my photographs really add anything? Would my words? Maybe I need to launch into a scathing tirade about the importance of trusting Science rather than the opinions of your high school gym teacher on Facebook? At this point, I’ve found myself atop an empty suburban parking garage, rambling away. I needed to get out of my house, I needed to be outside, and per proper precautions (and personal feeling): I didn’t want to be near anybody.
So, in traditional QC/D fashion (if there is such a thing), here’s what I’ve been seeing and experiencing.
Thanks for reading. I hope you’re listening to experts and not any misinformed acquaintances who claim “they know better.” Most of all, I hope you’re well.
 |
| - The QC/D remote offices. March 25, 2020. |
March 12, 2020
There was a dramatic shift that day. COVID-19 was already confirmed to be in Ohio—but on this day, the parade was cancelled, emergencies were declared, and the then-most stringent government orders were issued. By night, it seemed as if the first wave arrived—an onslaught of people who had been oblivious to the news or dismissing the virus finally joining those of us who had been paying attention. I had to stop for gas and got curious, walking from the pumps over to the Kroger grocery. Shelves were picked over, all toilet tissue was gone, bottled water was scarce, and no hand soap could be found. Employees were doing their best to re-stock and people seemed generally harmonious, but they were quiet and the lengthy check-out line was filled with mute expressions. The lone voice came from a parent trying to explain to their child just why the line was so long, why the store looked so different.
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| - Forest Park Kroger, Cincinnati. March 12, 2020. |
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| - Forest Park Kroger, Cincinnati. March 12, 2020. |
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| - Forest Park Kroger, Cincinnati. March 12, 2020. |
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| - Forest Park Kroger, Cincinnati. March 12, 2020. |
March 13, 2020
The virus continued creeping into the consciousness, but seemed to take on a vampirish character. At night, the stores were desolate, the skies were dark. During the day: the sun was shining, spring was starting to show, and the gears of business were still turning even as warning signs appeared on digital highway boards and public transit.
 |
| - COVID-19 Prevention Guide as seen on the Cincinnati Streetcar. March 13, 2020. |
At this point, restaurants and bars were still open for full business. On a Friday evening, we stopped at our favorite Thai place and found an empty dining room during what would normally be a dinner rush. In the nearby bars, though, you’d be hard pressed to notice anything different. If coronavirus was being discussed over a bucket of Miller Lites, it wasn’t getting the same reverence that West Side Cincinnati bar patrons were using to remind each other: today, you can’t eat meat. By the Lord's Day, all of that changed.
March 17, 2020
I had returned to the same Kroger and seen similar scenes to a few days before while grabbing my own supplies of canned goods and food.
Just in case.
I tried to be considerate and mindful: maintaining my distance, not taking more than I’d need, but all the while wondering if I was contributing to a larger issue, if it was even safe for me to be in that space.
I decided to head to Cleveland that night to be with Laura. Given the situation, I made no plans to detour in pursuit of shooting film. My only stops were for the aforementioned Waffle House coffee and a few rest areas where I’d vigorously be washing my hands anyway. I switched off of the hourly NPR news and caught up on some podcasts I’d been meaning to get to, shows that were produced before the virus was the subject of every episode on every show. For awhile, alone in my car, things started to feel normal. My vehicle had become my own form of social isolation, the pandemic and its attached anxieties not quite fully registering on what began to feel like any other trip throughout Ohio. Even with a full awareness of what was out there and rambling towards a destination that had featured the state’s first cases of COVID-19, I felt completely different compared to when I was wandering Kroger a few nights before and standing in that Waffle House just hours ago.
March 18, 2020
That car-bound comfort disappeared in the Northern end of the state the next day when we stopped by the Cleveland Clinic at E. 105th St. and Carnegie Ave. At the time, it was one of the very few drive-thru testing sites that were up and running in Ohio. Laura recalled that the scene had been crazy and chaotic the day before.
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| - Traffic backed up for several blocks near a Cleveland Clinic testing facility the previous day. Photograph by Laura Evers. |
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| - Scenes from the Cleveland Clinic drive-thru COVID-19 testing site at E. 105th St. and Carnegie Ave. March 18, 2020. |
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| - Scenes from the Cleveland Clinic drive-thru COVID-19 testing site at E. 105th St. and Carnegie Ave. March 18, 2020. |
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| - Scenes from the Cleveland Clinic drive-thru COVID-19 testing site at E. 105th St. and Carnegie Ave. March 18, 2020. |
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| - Scenes from the Cleveland Clinic drive-thru COVID-19 testing site at E. 105th St. and Carnegie Ave. March 18, 2020. |
Things were relatively calm as the police instructed people where to go (or to leave) and a hazmat clad physician screened vehicles. Still, the scene was a bit unsettling. If the apocalypse had arrived, it sure picked a somewhat pleasant Wednesday morning to do so.
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| - Marquee of the Cedar Lee Cinema, Cleveland Heights. March 18, 2020. |
March 20, 2020
A few days later, once more on the hunt for coffee, we met Bradford. A lifelong musician and the manager of Rising Star on Lee Rd., he said he had still been receiving business from loyal customers who wanted to show support, but that there had been a noticeable drop in traffic. In the early days of mandatory take-out orders, he was spending a good portion of his time alone in an empty diner-turned-coffee-shop and had started to teaching himself the violin. He was kind enough to let me photograph him doing so.
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| - Bradford Alcorn practicing the violin at Rising Star Coffee Roasters, Cleveland Heights. March 20, 2020. |
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| - Bradford Alcorn practicing the violin at Rising Star Coffee Roasters, Cleveland Heights. March 20, 2020. |
March 21, 2020
We had gone back to Cincinnati the previous night, after my sister had her hand forced. With over a year of planning and work, her and her future husband were set to be married on March 28, 2020. At first, the news surrounding the virus had everyone worried that a few guests may not attend. Then that worry morphed into a hypothetical of just who would actually attend? And finally the question of whether or not such an event could even happen given the increasing restrictions. They were able to, thankfully, re-schedule for the fall—not that it made the situation feel much better. Still, they wanted to be married and made plans for a quick, intimate ceremony featuring only immediate family. As the news and national conversation changed daily, they even moved things up a week for fear that a “shelter in place” order might come forth. On March 21, 2020, they were married in a brief ceremony attended by a few who maintained distance in the pews. A handful of other relatives pulled up in cars afterwards to cheer on the couple from a distance. My grandfather wore his finest blue medical gloves.
 |
| - The wedding of Theresa Salerno and Grant Geigle. March 21, 2020. |
March 22, 2020
News of a looming “stay-at-home” order and what that might entail came the next afternoon. I heard it on the radio while I was out making some photographs and documenting things. I used to work in the Kenwood Towne Centre, I knew how busy Sundays always were. No matter the weather, no matter the time of year—Sundays in the region’s most affluent mall were always a nightmare of crowds and retail regret. On this particular afternoon, the parking lots were empty. Many businesses had temporarily closed, but surprisingly the mall was still open. A few shops maintained commerce, but the vast majority of visitors were exercise walkers. I met Caty and Douglas while they were chatting on some seats, the two just looking to get out of the house for awhile, bummed that both the Starbucks across the street and the one within the mall were closed. Behind them, the Apple store stood empty with its glass doors sealed—a far cry for how the place would normally be at 2:40 PM on a Sunday afternoon.
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| - The temporarily closed Apple store at Kenwood Towne Centre, Cincinnati. March 22, 2020. |
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| - The food court at Kenwood Towne Centre with its seating accommodations removed. March 22, 2020. |
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| - A contast from a normal Sunday, the empty parking lot of the Kenwood Towne Centre during the ongoing pandemic. March 22, 2020. |
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| - The empty parking lot of the Kenwood Towne Centre across the street from The Jewish Hostpial where preparations were underway for a drive-thru COVID-19 testing facility. March 22, 2020. |
In Downtown Cincinnati, Fountain Square stood empty aside from one or two people passing through. If you needed a parking spot in the city, you had an ample selection.
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| - Fountain Square, Cincinnati. March 22, 2020. |
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| - Fountain Square, Cincinnati. March 22, 2020. |
Over at The Cincinnati Museum Center, Union Terminal’s parking lot echoed Kenwood’s.
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| - The empty parking lot of the temporarily closed Cincinnati Museum Center at Union Terminal. March 22, 2020. |
And up in Springdale, a Waffle House had taken to decorating their windows with paint to let potential customers know that they were in fact, still open for take-out. I purchased a large black coffee.
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| - A Waffle House in Springdale, Ohio emblazoned with paint to advertise that it was still open for carry-out orders. March 22, 2020. |
March 25, 2020
In the days since these photographs were made, the weather’s been nicer which seems to give a false sense of security. Whereas, the previous gray skies and cold temperatures seemed to match the mood surrounding the virus. Highway traffic is noticeably lower, but the amount of cars still out there does make one question: how many are really staying “at home?” There’s been a lot of talk about when Ohio and the nation will “get back to work,” but I keep coming back to the thought near the start of this writing: when’s that other shoe going to drop? Sunny skies can’t mask the reality of what’s happening in New York, New Jersey, and California.
March 28, 2020
Laura and I stopped by Kings Waffle once more. For the first time I’d ever seen in my life, maybe ever in the location’s history, the store was completely closed. Whenever discussion about the “Waffle House Index” had come up in the past there, the staff would point out that the doors didn’t even have locks. It truly would take a real disaster to close down a Waffle House, let alone one in the heartland far away from hurricane territory. Yet, on a warm afternoon that would’ve been a perfect day to grab coffee and enjoy a couple Camel’s out front: the door was fixed with a fresh padlock.
 |
| - Kings Waffle temporarily closed and locked. March 28, 2020. |
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| - Kings Waffle temporarily closed and locked. March 28, 2020. |
EDIT: The Waffle House stories have resumed, even in an age of Pandemic.
Next Chapter: Waiting for The Lights
Previous Chapter: It's Been a Minute
March 29, 2020
So this post ends with many still waiting, many still wondering, and many still struggling.
When I first sat down to write this, I was debating what to say and found myself putting off the idea—mindlessly scrolling through Twitter. Amongst all the noise, I came across some words from my friend Joe and I wanted to share his thoughts here. I feel they perfectly capture what’s on the minds of many at this particular moment in history.
“It’s wild to be living through an unquestionably major historic event. Decades from now, people will look back at this time, this moment as a part of their history.”
“It might not even be a full chapter, it might simply be a subsection in a weathered textbook that laments about this time. It really is a weird feeing.”
“When I studied events like the Great Depression or the World Wars or honestly read any primary source of history, I did so with an odd sense of modernity: I don’t know how to effectively explain it.”
“It’s like I was reading a fiction novel. It’s like the characters weren’t fully formed—like their consciousness wasn’t as valid as my own. It was like they were missing something that only the gift of life in my time would grant.”
“So, here I am. I’m in this moment. I don’t feel like a two-dimensional character. I have hopes. I have dreams. I have fears and anxieties that I am tragically unable to convey to any sense of posterity.”
“But does that rob me of my full humanity? Does the fact that I don’t know how to accurately write that I am terrified for not only my future, but for those that I love, make me some two-dimensional character to be presented for students to digest?”
“I don’t know. Maybe the secret is trapped in poetry or syntax. All I do know is that I feel like the eyes and weight of history are on this moment and it’s hard to deal with because my entire life has been spent as the set of eyes as opposed to a part of the subject.”
“Too long, didn’t read? I am sad, because all I want is for everyone to be okay."
- Joe S., March 23, 2020.
March 30, 2020
In closing: Wash your damn hands. Listen to doctors. Read a book. And make an appointment to go give blood.
UPDATE: April 18, 2020
I stopped by the Wilmington Air Park to document how Delta Airlines was temporarily storing aircraft of its regional and international fleets in rural Ohio. That story can be read here.
 |
UPDATE: May 7, 2020
Two F-16 fighter jets of the Ohio Air National Guard flew over Cincinnati area hospitals in a salute to frontline workers. That post is here.
 |
UPDATE: May 12, 2020
I documented the "ScareCoronas" of Cincinnati's Northisde neighborhood for Cincinnati Public Radio/91.7 WVXU. The neighborhood-wide art installation could be found on every street. More photographs are on WVXU's Twitter and Facebook.
I documented the "ScareCoronas" of Cincinnati's Northisde neighborhood for Cincinnati Public Radio/91.7 WVXU. The neighborhood-wide art installation could be found on every street. More photographs are on WVXU's Twitter and Facebook.
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