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On Confinement and Astronauts

Updated: Nov 20, 2020




So we are confined again, pretty much indefinitely or until China/Bill Gates /pharma «discover» a vaccine and we can all go back to essential first-world activities such as worshipping Beyonce and hating on vegans.


I don’t know if you’re like me, but I am constantly fantasizing about running away from my apartment, just for a little while, and again experiencing random situations that I used to take for granted.



Sitting on a strange toilet seat that doesn’t slide to the right side due to massive buttock pressure? Oh, bring it on baby.


Sloppily French kissing El Rey Del Taco busboys at 2:30 a.m. on a Tuesday waiting for my gordita order? MMmmmmm.


Waking up hungover in the rec room of a Boisbriand retirement home next to silver fox Gerald wearing nothing but a tiara made of bottle caps? I would just LOVE that, people.


Joke aside, you know who has it going on during the pandemic in terms of running the fuck away? Astronauts.


Do you think that NASA told them at first «Your orders are to come back to Earth right now and be just as miserable as the rest of humanity»?


And they were like «That’s a hard negative, Mission Command. You guys are fucked. We’re just going to hang here until this Corona shit blows over, or you all die. Either way, we still have many pouches of delicious chili, plenty of raspberry fruit roll ups and that keg of gross Baltika beer that the Russians left over last time. We’ll see you in a while, or never.»


But I would imagine that eventually depression gets to astronauts sometimes too.


Like, do they have special astronaut uniform sweat pants with grape punch stains and crotch holes and a stretched waist elastic band so that they can just shake their hips to bring them down to their knees in the bathroom? Although I imagine the shimmying would be super hard in zero gravity.


Also, do they have Netflix in space? Do they ever binge-watch all eight hundred seventy one episodes of Law and Order in one sitting to find out afterwards that their kidneys stopped working? Is there an official policy for porn watching in the cabin? Like, Plushy porn is allowed, but Sex Trek: The Next Penetration is off limits?


And what about the food? Do some Astronauts hide freeze dried Doritos under their mattress?


Do they fight over who put the empty milk protein carton back in the refrigerated unit?

Do they take turns doing dishes, or is it Astrophysicist Dale who does them all the time because he has OCD and worries about micro-particles of beef bourguignon coming into contact with his space utensils. You know, Dale is a strict vegan because we only have one planet, people. (Well, actually, do we, Dale?)


And, you got to wonder, do the other astronauts find that Dale is a little bitch, and won’t sit next to him at briefings because of his bad gas issue due to his chronic overconsumption of hummus capsules?


Also, does Debbie the Navy Seal get a special pistachio ice cream pellet allotment for her PMS? And are the other Astronauts jealous? Or is that a super sexist question? Like, on their ship, can everybody have all the ice cream pellets that they want at any time for no special reason whatsoever, and certainly not because one is a strong, independent and smart human being who happens to own a uterus that spews blood out sometimes.


I don’t know if any of you have ever met actual real astronauts? I would imagine they would be the ultimate party guests, non? Like, gathered around the onion dip, your friends’ eyes full of wonder, Dale would regale them with awesome tales of superhuman accomplishments in the face of terror, like that time the liquid recycling unit stopped working, and they had to ration hand washing for a few hours. That was truly horrifying.


But eventually, Dale’s partner and teenage children would be fucking bored with his limited pool of space stories. Like, they’d roll their eyes as soon as he’d get started «Fuuuuccckkkk, no, please, not the story of discovering the old chunk of asteroid AGAIN. It’s a piece of rock, Dad. It’s grey and it’s hard. You suck.»


I understand your pain, Dale. The other day, I was telling Barry Basil and Mao Moneytree, my pet plants, about their friend Sonia Begonia’s story of barbaric abuse at the hands of my 6th floor coworkers, and it’s like they weren’t even listening. I reckon confinement has really turned us all into heartless animals.

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