Valuing Connection During a Global Pandemic
By Matt Malinowski
The Beginning
I opened the front door on March 13, 2020, and found my little old dog waiting for me excitedly. It was dinnertime, and he made sure I knew by occasionally letting loose a deep, throaty bark characteristic of the pug breed. I unpacked my lunch bag, took a deep breath, and settled myself into the apartment. My wife was home too, and though she was smiling as I greeted her, I knew she must be feeling as conflicted as me. We were supposed to be celebrating our wedding anniversary, but I had just been laid off from work an hour earlier. The Las Vegas Strip had been shut down due to the coronavirus pandemic, and it was uncertain if I would ever return to my job at the aquarium. I fed the dog, turned on some mindless television, and quickly fell asleep holding my wife’s hand.
Resorts illuminate rooms with inspiration. Photos/Matt Malinowski.
Time drifted by in our quarantine, and we fell into a routine. Breakfast, a meal that had previously not existed in our home, became something special, and we marked each morning with a fresh cup of coffee. In the afternoon we distracted ourselves with exercise and organization. I was also in graduate school, and I dived deep into my Museum Studies coursework to keep my mind focused. Being busy was helpful, but in downtime I would obsessively worry about the virus, my family and friends, and my future.
Pudge the Pug enjoys a quarantine 15th birthday breakfast.
Nearly four months passed until the phone rang on my birthday in late July 2020. I would be returning to work on Monday, though in a different temporary role. The resort had reopened one month earlier and now the aquarium was in need of additional staff to assist with its daily operation. Under normal circumstances, I felt privileged to work on the aquarium’s education staff, conducting field trips, caring for animals, and delivering special programming and events to guests. I am passionate about the conservation of our planet and its inhabitants, and having purpose in my work was something I always valued. This temporary role would be a means to an end so that I could return to the job I loved. I was excited to know I still had employment at the aquarium but was nervous about potential exposure.
The Return
I stepped out of the employee elevator on my first day back and found myself undergoing temperature screenings and a verbal questionnaire before meandering through the basement of the megaresort to the aquarium entrance. I was issued a set of masks and given a quick rundown of my new responsibilities. Within minutes, I was assisting guests with aquarium ticketing, exhibit interpretation, and a theater experience.
The aquarium was consistently sold out of its limited occupancy ticketing, and I struggled with why so many would choose to travel during this unprecedented time. It was challenging and exhausting to be exposed to thousands of people each shift while every voice of science and authority said to stay in the house and avoid exposure to others. I worried about bringing the virus home and systematically cleaned everything and got tested often.
Sharks sleekly swim by unaware of the pandemic affecting land dwellers.
Tourists openly voice their disappointment in the lack of shows or open dining options during the global pandemic. I saw grown adults throw childlike tantrums over wearing masks. I was the target of verbal obscenities and gestures as I asked guests to observe distancing guidelines. Children placed their hands and mouths on railings and other surfaces. People held open drink containers as a workaround to wearing a face covering. I was finding it difficult to keep a positive attitude, and the same went for many of my colleagues. We began to support each other in small ways and built a strong camaraderie in our singular goal of navigating a pandemic in a tourist hotspot. I felt like Bill Murray’s character in Groundhog Day, constantly repeating the same routine and narrative for nearly eight months until suddenly news of an approved vaccine broke and hope finally arrived.
The Vaccine
It was a Friday afternoon in March of 2021; I had the day off but had other business at the resort. The property was busy with travelers arriving for the weekend in Las Vegas and an endless rush of people streamed into the lobby, including myself. A symphony of noise produced by rolling luggage, overlapping conversations, and the distant electronic hum of slot machines echoed out into the air. I stopped to use a hand sanitizing station, while a Hispanic family of 10 passed in their wet swim clothes. A boy no more than four was dragging a drenched towel behind him, leaving a trail of moisture. I checked my watch, adjusted my mask, and continued down the familiar hall.
Tourists stream into a Las Vegas resort, March 2021.
A white-haired man in denim overalls pushed his walker past me while his mask drooped under his chin. Groups of tall and lean teenage girls rambled by in their volleyball uniforms, chatting loudly but only occasionally glancing up from their shimmering phone screens. A couple in their forties, shuffled past in plush hotel robes and slippers holding hands and laughter erupted from a group of young men wearing flat brimmed hats and cargo shorts as they chugged cans of Bud Light. Behind me, a sharply dressed waiter illuminated candles on the empty tables in preparation for early dinner service. Had it not been for the face coverings, it would have looked and sounded like any busy Friday afternoon.
I left the crowded corridor and headed on my way, continuing past a bustling coffee shop where social distancing was an afterthought. I paused when I reached the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the resort’s pool. The lounge chairs were full of people of all ages, mostly in skimpy swimwear, sunbathing in the 70° weather. Children splashed in the chlorinated water, while an overweight, fedora-clad man sipped on a drink as his skin glistened with sweat. I grumbled under my mask and kept walking. I navigated past overcrowded restaurants and carefully dodged tourists until a right-hand turn placed me onto the busily patterned carpeting of a large convention space.
My destination was a ballroom in the furthest recesses of the meeting spaces. I knew where I was going, but the area was unexpectedly empty. I stepped swiftly as the emptiness made me feel as though I had missed my opportunity, perhaps confusing the details of my appointment. When I reached the entrance of the ballroom, a bald, male security guard in his seventies with thick framed glasses sat drowsily at a podium. A few seconds of silence passed before the security guard cleared his throat and said, “ID please.” I reached into my pocket and produced my worn employee identification card. “Step up to the desk,” he said after examining my card, and he motioned to a section of the cavernous convention hall.
I scanned the brightly illuminated room and found a thin, brunette woman in her thirties sitting at a folding table. Her hair was in a ponytail, and she wore the dark blue uniform of a paramedic. “How’s your day so far?” she asked. I thought for a moment and replied, “Honestly, it’s been odd, but I am happy to get this taken care of. Thanks for being here.” She smiled and told me her name was Laura and went through a brief health questionnaire with me. “Take a seat and roll up your sleeve,” she said when I after filling out some paperwork. “Does it matter which arm?” I asked. “Nope,” said Laura, “Take your pick. You’re getting the Johnson & Johnson today. Are you okay with needles?” I told her that as long as it wasn’t a blood draw, I would be fine. “I get it,” said Laura, “I used to be a phlebotomist. A lot of people have a hard time with blood.”
“I expected it to be busy on the first day of available vaccination. Where is everyone?” I asked as Laura ran a cold alcohol swab over my arm. “It was never busy, but the computers crashed earlier and led to some slowdowns, but hey guess what? You are vaccinated against COVID-19.” She smiled and filled out some details on a reference card before handing it back and instructing me to wait for 15 minutes in the observation area. I sat amongst a sea of boring conference chairs only occupied by about a dozen people. I wanted to be happy, but in the eerie silence of the large space my thoughts went back to the tourists playing pretend. I wondered if they had any idea what Laura and the other paramedics were doing for the community just down the hall. I was also frustrated that the vaccine clinic was empty. I found out later that many of my direct co-workers actually did get vaccinated that day, but the empty clinic seemed like such a wasted opportunity for other employees. As I stewed, a young woman passed by and sat several rows behind me and started a phone conversation. I wasn’t meaning to eavesdrop, but the room was so quiet I could hear every word.
Open Space at the Vaccine Clinic.
“Mom,” said the young woman, “I’m finally coming to see you.” I couldn’t hear the response clearly, but I picked up on the emotion in her mother’s voice. “I got my vaccine, so you tell me when and I’ll be there. It’s been so long.” In that moment, my negativity and frustration turned to hope, if only until I stepped back out into the hall.
The Present
Now in the summer of 2021, the plexiglass barriers and social distancing reminders that lined the hallways have all disappeared from the resort. Unmasked masses stroll the hallways and corridors. Reemergence has just begun for so many, and as my tourist resentment dissipates my mood is improving and my optimism is returning.
Reflecting on the experience of the past year, I realize that my mental despair was not only with the possibility of viral infection but also the hopelessness of the myriad of problems facing humanity and our planet. As a conservationist, how was I to convince someone of the importance of the oceans or the preservation of a historic site if they were not even willing to take steps to ensure their own safety and the wellbeing of others during a pandemic? Solutions to large-scale world issues such as equity, climate change, and peace seemed even more out of reach when I saw so many selfishly putting others at risk.
But then I remembered how much my personal relationships deepened during the past year. I remembered the love I received from friends and family. Though I am not much for spoken words they understood that I needed support and reached out frequently. I thought of my parents and how frightened I had been when my mother had tested positive for COVID-19 a few months earlier. Now thanks to science, vaccination could keep her safe. I remembered the strength my wife provided to me during the months of uncertainty, the silly distractions my niece and nephew gave me over video calls, and the friendship of my siblings, colleagues, and classmates.
Now as my sweet old dog sits quietly in my lap, content with just being close to me, I remember the value of connection. I may not be able to fix every problem or persuade others to see things from my point of view, but I will always find contentment in the great things I have in my life. As we reemerge, I hope we can all find a little more love to offer one another and ourselves and together we can build the future our world deserves.
Matt Malinowski loves history, museums, retro video games, and wildlife. He swims with sharks willingly and has a life goal to see a wild moose. Matt has become misty eyed over dinosaurs at the Carnegie Museum of Natural History and once wore a Napoleon hat intended for children while visiting the Musee de l’Armee. His right hand has high-fived the real Harry Potter, Daniel Radcliffe, and he has stood where Ben Kenobi showed Luke Skywalker a bird’s eye view of Mos Eisley.
He remembers his first field trip to the Pittsburgh Zoo. While the other students in Mrs. Lesso’s first grade class ran ahead, Matt stared intently at the Amur Tiger exhibit. Reading the sign next to the powerful beast he learned about endangered species and was spellbound. Now, as an Aquarium Educator in Las Vegas, Matt strives to connect audiences to the need for conservation and understanding of our planet.
Matt knows firsthand that a visit to a museum or aquarium can change a person’s perspective and ultimately their life. He is a current master’s degree candidate in Museum Studies at Harvard University Extension School and holds a Bachelor of Science degree in Biology with a minor in Anthropology from Penn State. Throughout his career, he hopes to guide cultural institutions into stronger alignment with their mission and visions and help reinvent the museum setting for the changing 21st century.
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