Flat Earth Guy

     A global pandemic gives an introvert more time to think than is good for him. Thoughts, ideas, and grand plans zip in and out of my mind long before my cat ever receives her first feeding. Soon after, coffee soothes whatever "pressing" tasks were on my mental to-do list and I settle on an insignificant few each new day. 

     We're sort of wired for these times. Introverts, I mean. Observers by nature, we have always mentally exhaled after long days at work or at play. Don't get us wrong, we love humanity, but in order to do it all over again tomorrow, we need to re-charge in the company of only a few, or none. Trust me, the introvert in you (or in your life) is nodding.

     The one consistent thought that hasn't left me however, is, "I am one of the lucky ones." I suppose that's why I've kept my head down since the lockdown began. Keep your mouth shut, I remind myself from the comfort of home. No one wants to hear your thoughts on sheltering in place.

     We introverts do like our fresh air, though. I've been pounding the pavement hard since mid-March; around my neighborhood, on nearby trails, and south Minneapolis lakes. Recognizing that I wasn't the only one, the city of Minneapolis wisely closed the parkways around Lake of the Isles, Calhoun (Bde Maka Ska), Harriet, and Nokomis to vehicles a month ago, turning them over to pedestrians instead. This was done after Governor Walz publicly scolded lake walkers for ignoring social distancing guidelines. Us city folk are nothing if not obedient after a stern talking to.

     But, pandemic or not, spring also brings the kooks out to Minneapolis' lakes. Or should I say kook. I call him the Flat Earth Guy. For the past few summers he's had a table set up near the walking path around Lake Calhoun. It is littered with literature and "proof" of the flat globe (see what I did there?) we live on. All a ploy for views on his YouTube channel or website or whatever nonsense he's selling from his parents' basement. Always answering questions with more questions, he has clearly boned up on the pseudo-science and conspiracy theories he professes to believe. 

     Being a geography teacher, the sight of Flat Earth Guy's table used to really irk me. "Get a dog!" I once hollered at him, hoping that the task of routinely picking up an adoring pet's poop might turn him away from a life of nonsense. I got over his maddening "certainty" eventually, realizing that he was probably just a lonely introvert. Believing (or so he said), like millions of others do, in something so demonstrably false was simply his way of belonging—of not being alone in the round, round world. 

     Maybe it is the sense of disruption caused by the pandemic, but when I saw Flat Earth Guy at Lake Calhoun yesterday I felt reassured that everything is eventually going to be fine. Sure, he had switched out his THE EARTH IS FLAT, PROVE ME WRONG sign for THE 5G NETWORK CAUSES COVID-19, but I didn't mind. Instead, I noticed how haggard and gaunt he appeared, in need of some protein. Clearly, the pandemic is hard on the kooks too, maybe more so. Whatever insecurity we are all feeling, it probably goes doubly for them. I suppose cults work like that. The strain of believing fictions—be they virus or planet shape-related, instead of verifiable science—has to take its toll.

     Nonetheless, I wish him well and hope he'll move out of that basement one day, maybe even get that dog, enjoy a sunset (or an Earth Turn, whatever he wants to call it). Sure, I laughed inwardly at his latest advertised conspiracy, but happily called out, "Hey, you're the Flat Earth Guy!"

     "I may or may not be," he cagily replied. Of course.