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Hong Kong’s hotel quarantine medics don’t have to be great conversationalists, but 21 days is a long time to go without even one friendly greeting. Photo: Getty Images
Opinion
Kate Whitehead
Kate Whitehead

To Hong Kong hotel quarantine testers – would saying ‘Good morning’ once in a while kill you?

  • A friendly greeting costs nothing and would be well received by the thousands dutifully serving their time in quarantine. Instead, they get nothing
  • On my 17th day in quarantine – my birthday, which the medics could see on their tablets – none of them so much as grunted an acknowledgement

The biggest challenge of the three-week quarantine, especially for those doing it solo, is lack of human contact. The only people you see in the flesh are the government-appointed Covid-19 testers who visit every three days – and they are not great conversationalists.

These hazmat-suited testers keep closely to a four-line script: “Open up Covid test / ID card number / Mask off / Put this in the rubbish bin.” I quickly learned to tell by the knock on the door who was there – a gentle knock and it was the friendly hotel staff dropping off a meal or delivery from a friend, a loud rap and it was the medics.

During the first couple of weeks of incarceration, I enjoyed the challenge of trying to get them to veer a little off-script, anything that would make this rare human encounter less austere. “Busy today?” I’d ask as my temperature was checked. My quarantine neighbour got a chuckle out of one with the line, “Come here often?”

By day 17, the novelty of quarantine was wearing thin and I jumped when there was a sudden hammering on the door. I knew the drill and donned my mask, dragged the chair over to the door and opened it. I could have done with a simple greeting – “Good morning” would have gone down a treat. Instead I got the opening gambit: “ID card number.”

My 21 days in Hong Kong quarantine and how I survived it

I reeled off the first four digits of my ID card like the well-trained leper that I’d become. “It’s my birthday,” I added as one of the medics checked my details on a tablet.

I wasn’t expecting them to sing Happy Birthday, but none of them so much as grunted an acknowledgement. Instead, a stick was shoved up my nose. Annoyed, I persevered, “No, really it is my birthday,” I reiterated, knowing confirmation was right there on the tablet.

This straying from the script seemed to annoy the wielder of the plastic stick. “Open mouth,” she said, and rammed it in so hard it slammed into my tonsils.

I pulled back, clutching my throat, “That hurt.”

She peeled off her gloves and offered them to me, “Put this in the rubbish.”

I’m not saying all the medics are this brutal. There was one tester – a firm favourite on my quarantine floor – who was very gentle. But even the kind ones didn’t start the process off with a friendly greeting. A courteous opener such as “Good morning, how are you?” costs nothing and would be well received by the thousands of Hongkongers dutifully serving their time in quarantine.

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