Brennan LaBrie
Editor-In-Chief
I was sitting just outside of the University Center at Pacific Lutheran University, enjoying a Banh Mi, when I got the call — one that I had been expecting for over a year now.
Minutes before, I had given myself a rapid Covid test at the testing clinic run by the nursing department, something I had done dozens of times. Last school year, doing so was required for all members of the club ultimate frisbee team. On this particular day I was getting tested because I had started feeling ill the night before. However the head-and-body ache had only lasted a day and I was ready to get back to class and work.
By now I knew the drill. After swabbing the testing stick five times in each nostril and signing some paperwork, I had to leave campus and wait about 15 minutes for my test results. If I got a call, the test was positive or inconclusive. No call meant I was good to go. I had never received a call.
I was bragging about this fact to my mom over text when my phone rang. After two years, the virus had finally got me.
Shortly thereafter the campus health center called and instructed me to isolate, immediately. I could stay in my home just off campus — if I could avoid contact with my housemates. Or, I could go home to my family. I couldn’t possibly do either of these things, so I was left with one option: go to the Covid isolation dorm on campus.
Within the hour I was lugging a duffel bag of clothes, a grocery bag loaded with food and a pillow (as per instructions) down the street and onto campus. I was lucky to live just five minutes from the Covid dorm, as nobody would have wanted to give me a ride.
As I struggled with my load, I took in the bright pink sky — my last sunset outside for five days.
I was late meeting the campus safety officer at the door of Kreidler Hall. Built in the 1950s, Kreidler is nestled amongst identical brick residential halls on PLU’s upper campus and shaded by tall firs that dot the lawn around it. Saying barely a word, the officer led me into the building’s unlit lobby and pointed down a hallway to the left. “You’re in room 106, that way,” he told me.
I walked down a gray-carpeted hallway lit by dim fluorescent lights, which mirrored those of Hong Hall, Kreidler’s sister dorm that housed me my freshman year. This hallway, unlike mine, was devoid of any decorations, which when paired with the lighting gave it the feel of an old mental institution. The second-to-last doorway on the left was left ajar. I entered.
Plain white walls and a brown linoleum floor greeted me. There were two empty desks and a twin bed in the far corner, its blue mattress pad propped against the wall above it. A bag of linens, a room key and an information packet rounded out my personal items.
The packet informed me of the expectations while I was in quarantine. I was not to leave the building or invite anyone into it. I was to keep my mask on any time I was outside of my room, and keep my distance from anyone I saw. I was to order lunch and dinner for the day, and breakfast the next day, by 10 a.m. The meals would be dropped off in the lobby twice a day. I was not to be anywhere near during the drop off times.
I made my bed, which was adorned with tissue-thin sheets, and placed my few belongings in the drawers and closets of the room. I set up my computer on the desk by the window to finalize my office. I placed my vegetables in the fridge in the communal kitchen, and was delighted to see a table of snack bars, cookies, oranges, coffee and tea laid out before me. It was a good assortment and momentarily made me happy to be there.
I was looking forward to seeing who I’d meet in the Covid wing. I figured there would probably be a fair number of people. Over the last several weeks PLU’s Covid cases had skyrocketed as the Omicron variant spread and students returned from winter break. My friends, classmates and coworkers were catching it left and right. Over the course of my first day, however, I saw no one. I knew people were there; I’d hear the coughs in the rooms, and the doors slam as people returned from the wing’s single bathroom. I had no idea how many people shared this floor with me, but anytime I ventured out from my room it felt like I had this eerie ward all to myself. Before I left I would only briefly catch two fellow quarantinees in the small pink-tiled bath and shower room we all shared. No words were exchanged.
I slept past 10 a.m. on my first morning and persuaded hospitality services to bring me lunch and dinner for the day. The lunch menu ranged from several cold sandwich options and a bagel and cream cheese to a fruit bowl. I ordered a bowl of raw veggies with hummus, with juice and an apple on the side. The breakfast and dinner menus were equally constricted, with the latter offering pizza and salmon on certain nights. After finishing my cold $8 meal I decided I was going to order takeout for myself instead, and lure my friends to my window with food.
My friends, it turned out, were more than happy to oblige. They brought me snacks from the student store and takeout from nearby restaurants. One friend brought me books to read and a scarf she knit for me in case I was cold. My housemate even brought me the toothbrush I had forgotten at home. Soon the shelf above my desk was stocked with food.
In between visits I’d often lazily peer out the window as I sat working at my desk, hoping to see somebody I knew walk by. The path to the music building was just a few feet from my window, and when I’d see someone I knew I’d knock aggressively. Most people didn’t hear me, but I caught the attention of a few friends who, with bemused grins on their faces, came to converse with me and examine my quarters. I’d prolong the conversations as long as I possibly could.
Luckily I wasn’t alone for long. On my second evening my friend Gunnar checked into the Covid jail. PLU asked us to do our own contact tracing, and Gunnar was one of the first people I reached out to. We had worked together the night before, and went to the gym the day before that. Sure enough, I had infected him. This was unfortunate for him, but great news for me; I now had someone to talk to. He ordered us teriyaki that evening, and over the next few days we’d order food several times and hang out in each other’s doorways when we were bored or lonely, which was most of the time. We even started filming small sketches — in which I slowly descended into madness and tormented him — to pass the time.
Just as there were no fellow quarantinees stirring about the hallways, there was no supervisor of any sort. At first I was wondering if someone would catch Gunnar and I hanging out in the hallways and get us in trouble, but it soon became clear that no such thing would happen. I suppose it makes sense that nobody would want the job of patrolling the Covid ward..
Time sped by in the room. I would take class, do some homework, take a nap, work out and eat, and then it would be bedtime. Before I knew it, it was Monday, and I awoke to an email telling me that I was good to check out.
The thing was, I didn’t want to go. I had grown comfortable in my large, empty new home. Sure, I missed being outside. And yes, whenever I moved in my bed the fitted sheet ripped off. And there sounded like there were people moving inside the walls. But hey, I was getting a lot of work done, had all the time in the world (and the empty floor space) to work out, and was now loaded up on food and snacks.
I was granted an extension to stay one more day. I used it to get as much work done as I could before returning to the real world. I even enjoyed a bath in the dorm’s bathtub, which, after removing the many hairs scattered around, was rather enjoyable despite the responses of horror from my friends.
Tuesday morning I said a bittersweet goodbye to Gunnar, who was to stay on two more days, and stepped outside into the sunlight once again. I had to get moving; Covid positive or not, I was expected back at work in a few hours.
