curbside pickup

In the old days, in the days before the epidemic became a pandemic, when they innocently strolled boulevards, shook hands, hugged, and sneezed or coughed with abandon, curbside pickups were reserved for nefarious exchanges on streets with no lights, beyond the surveillance cameras, beyond the arms of the law and conventional decency. Unlike during the coronavirus age, curbside pickups were not advertised with lawn signs. Retail merchants were discreet; they mumbled. They didn't advertise curbside pickups by boasts and neon. The demimonde was a subterranean circus in the old days, secret and raucous. It's private culture made its entreaties all the more alluring. But when curbside pickups went mainstream the sizzle fizzled. What fun is a curbside pickup that is all aboveground, on the up and up, family-oriented, and sanctioned by all authorities, federal, state, and local? Curbside pickups became so legit as to garner praise from politicos for feeding the economic engine. Where was the praise when the economic engine was steaming ahead at full throttle on Demimonde Drive, no speed limit, no red lights? Why was the civic championing muted despite a rampaging-rapids revenue stream? They know why: pride, respect, decency. They wanted to keep the curbside pickups discreet, charming, and wink-winkable. Those days are gone, perhaps forever. The signs said Call Ahead. Curbside Pickups Only. Stay in Your Car. The cars lined up. A parade. A festive flotilla. What took so long?