Faced with a lower ceiling
A good test of one’s ability to judge a situation is by comparison with the “take” of others. I depend on it, given my social distance from the rest of the world. Be it the crazy plan to break the hedge fund bank, or the decision to stop ordering fish sandwiches in the local sub shop (confession: I didn’t), I appreciate seeing how the late night hosts interpret things. So far, we seem to be singing from the same page in our hymnals.
Well, now I have a local case that needs interpretation. Someone has decided that we (meaning my neighbours) are doing TOO well in the pandemic lottery. The call is to transfer any local vaccine allocations to others, who aren’t as well and wise. Yes, Toronto, you. Hold on a “cotton pickin’ minute there”.
This idea that one can level the playing field on the backs of the successful wouldn’t work in pro sports, or finance. It doesn’t work in public health, either. In short, keep sending vaccines here; eventually I will make it to the front of the queue. Stop pampering the maskless partiers.
We’ve been downstairs, trying to calculate our loss (in ceiling height). Installing a suspended (floating) system comes at a cost. Playing basketball will be a little tougher (again, we haven’t been). I’m willing to accept the centimeters as the price for uniformity. I did learn that someone else in the house cannot estimate things like “the margin above the doorframe”. Not even with a measuring stick.
It doesn’t matter; she’s too short to play basketball, anyways.
