I finally caught COVID

by Brandon Summers | August 27, 2022

First and foremost, I don’t think my situation or symptoms are unique. There’s nothing special about the circumstances which I contracted it either— I’m simply grateful that I had avoided it for so long (and it didn’t put me in the hospital).

Here we are roughly two and a half years later following the abrupt lockdowns, the cleaned out grocery store shelves, and the infection, suffering and death of a million Americans; and now the cavalier “post-COVID” return to “normal” as a community and political response to covid fatigue. It is worth noting that the United States is not the center of the universe; and beyond its borders, 5 million people have died. But within its borders, over 1 million Americans have died from COVID. In 2022, roughly 200,000 Americans have died from a virus that many would like to believe is nothing more than a flu. I don’t want to make this a political discussion, so I’ll move right along to my personal experience.

Day 1

My significant other tested positive for COVID at the end of July. I was in New Orleans for a corporate gig at that moment, but took an at-home test anyway (negative). When I returned home to Las Vegas, I stayed with my parents for several days to avoid contact with my partner. The strategy seemed to pay off and she finally tested negative.

Sunday, August 22, 2022: About three weeks later, I was suddenly too exhausted to function and without an appetite. The other symptoms crept in that Sunday afternoon– chills, fever, a pounding headache, light sensitivity, body aches. I went to the bedroom, turned off the lights and just laid there. I wasn’t at all of the disposition to turn on television or listen to music. I was miserable, sweaty, and trying to find a prone position that would give my lower back some relief (6/10 pain-discomfort level). This was how the first 24 hours went. Eventually, the pounding headache and light sensitivity subsided enough were I could begin my Netflix binge.

Day 2

Monday, August 23, 2022: Somewhere in the day, I took an at-home COVID test and the infamous double lines appeared. It shall remain a mystery why my test was negative on Day 1 when the symptoms were the worst. Now that I didn’t feel completely terrible, I had time to contemplate how I got sick. I honestly don’t think my partner was the source of my infection, but it’s totally fine if that’s the way the cookie crumbled. I worked at a middle school three days that week and had a wedding reception gig on Saturday where I and the attendees were all maskless. It could have very well been one of those situations that gave me the rona.

The second day of this affliction went much better than the first. My appetite came back and I had enough strength to sit up and answer emails. I had to tell a corporate client that I wouldn’t be able to make the gig in San Diego the following day. Ozark and Better Call Saul were my programs of choice. I watched episode after episode to my heart’s content. Day 2 went smoothly with the exception of intermittent diarrhea.

Day 3

I woke up and wanted to get out the house for the first time since Saturday. I decided to go for a walk and it proved to be daunting. I tired out halfway through and had to take a break before heading up to the third floor to my unit. It was a struggle and I felt soreness in my knees. The binge watching continued.

Day 4

Cough. cough. Where did this cough come from? It is annoying. Fortunately, my strength has returned and I don’t feel physically exhausted.

Day 5

I scheduled a PCR test through the Southern Nevada Health District. I’d done a few of these tests already, so I knew the drill. This location was a walk-up site where I was guided to swab myself. I hate the feeling of the Q-tip in my nose, but this oversized one wasn’t so bad. I received a text message the following day that confirmed I was positive for COVID-19.

The Southern Nevada Health District has received a notification that you recently had a POSITIVE laboratory test result for coronavirus disease 2019 (COVID-19). In accordance with NAC 441A.280 and the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) guidelines, you are required to isolate yourself in your home to prevent those around you from being exposed to infection with COVID-19. For more information, visit http://www.snhd.info/ip.

Day 7

Sunday, August 27, 2022: Performed at an outdoor charity event— one where I had to bring my own PA system. I felt totally normal.

Day 8

Tested negative for COVID-19 with an at-home rapid test. I was back in the classroom the following day.

Clark County School District Is Reopening… [sigh]

by Brandon Summers | January 30, 2021

Here we are in 2021… or should I say 2020 Part 2: The UK Variant Strikes Back. The COVID-19 health and economic shitshow continues as U.S. cases approach 26 million and the death toll surpasses 430,000. In Clark County, Nevada, the test positivity rate currently stands at 19%.

Thankfully, I am employed in a high-functioning, high-ranking school district, with fantastic leadership from a revered superintendent, a school board that knows how to keep meetings short and sweet (and does not have a racist, MAGA-loving trustee in its ranks); and I’m backed by a teacher’s union that prides itself on listening to its members.

Well, most of that was sarcasm.

I am employed (yay!) but I am expendable. I work as a vacancy sub who makes just enough to keep a roof over my head, put gas in the car, and buy groceries. Unlike licensed teachers and support staff, I have no representation. I have no health insurance. I have no sick leave or paid time off. I have no retirement. And to boot, I’m probably last in line in the “vaccine Hunger Games”.

Fortunate for me, I work at a middle school and it is unlikely that I will have to return to in-person instruction this 2020-2021 school year.

After the Clark County School Board agreed to move forward with small-group instruction weeks ago, CCSD suddenly decided to jump to a full-scale reopening for pre-k through 3d grade. The return date is set for Monday, March 1, 2021. I got the announcement via email on January 27 at 5:09pm.

Meanwhile, Superintendent Dr. Jesus Jara has been on a media blitz (New York Times, CNN, NBC) misrepresenting student suicide rates as a “surge”, justifying the urgency of a large-scale reopening. Though the claim was debunked in November 2020, Dr. Jara does not seem to care. Online, CCSD teachers have expressed frustration that issues of student mental health, youth suicide, and inadequate staffing levels of school counselors have been ignored for years. Conveniently, the district has changed its tune.

“I couldn’t sleep with my phone nearby anymore,” Dr. Jara said. It was like a 24-hour reminder that we need to get our schools open.” – Dr. Jesus Jara, NYT Jan. 24, 2021

I hate when people owe me money, I hate when people lie to my face, and I hate when critical emails are sent after work hours. Clark County School District is guilty of all of these transgressions. Yes, I want life to go back to “normal” like everyone else, but we’re simply not there yet. Teachers and students will get sick when schools reopen, and some teachers will probably die. The decision makers will be insulated in their offices and schools will have to manage the collateral damage. ∎

Brandon Summers is a violinist, middle school substitute teacher, community activist, and Las Vegas native. He is a graduate of Fort Valley State University where he majored in mathematics and holds BA in liberal studies.
@BrandonSummers_ on Twitter.

By Dana Gentry – November 18, 2020
By Alexis Salt | Shelbie Lynn – January 28, 2021


Vice President Kamala Harris Is A Major No For Me

by Brandon Summers | January 22, 2021

I am not cheering. I am not clapping. I am not celebrating. Yes, #RepresentationMatters and Kamala Harris embodies this as a woman– a black woman, an Indian woman, a biracial woman of black and Indian decent; and a HBCU alum belonging to a divine nine sorority. Regardless of her ascension to U.S Vice President as a person of color, she has caused harm as a prosecutor and attorney general. That harm cannot be undone.

I DO NOT subscribe to cancel culture. For one, it doesn’t exist and to this date, I can probably count on one hand the number of high profile individuals who have actually been “canceled”. However, I do believe in accountability; and forgiveness should not be afforded to perpetrators until they have acknowledged their shortcomings and the collateral consequences of their actions.

I have personally experienced the criminal justice system weaponized against me and witnessed what it can do to others. It’s not okay and never will be. I don’t take it lightly and I refuse to look past it.

I was in The New York Times. That’s pretty cool.

Here’s the article: Pandemic Teacher Shortages Imperil In-Person Schooling
By Natasha Singer | Jan. 19, 2021

In the fall, Brandon Summers, a violinist in Las Vegas, began a semester-long substitute assignment as an orchestra teacher in the Clark County School District, the nation’s fifth-largest school system. Although the students were learning remotely, the district initially required substitute teachers to come into school and teach virtually from classrooms.

Paid $120 per day, Mr. Summers said he took on all of the duties of a regular licensed teacher without benefits like health insurance or paid sick days. He was also expected to quickly learn an array of online attendance and communications tools — all while teaching orchestra virtually to some 210 middle school students.

He is now part of a Las Vegas community group, United Substitutes for Higher Wages and Better Benefits, that is pushing for improved working conditions for district substitutes.

“It was just chaos,” Mr. Summers said of his pandemic teaching experience, adding that the school’s support team had no power to alleviate the increased teaching burdens for temporary instructors. “They were just happy to get another adult body in front of these kids.”
/ pdf

The photographer took over a hundred photos, and NYT chose the saddest looking one of me 🙂

#SubLife: 15 weeks of teaching virtually during the COVID-19 pandemic

by Brandon Summers | December 19, 2020

I swore to myself in 2018 that I would never accept a vacancy teaching position again. Despite the pay being low, teaching full-time takes energy away from my life as a working musician. Unfortunately, this year would prove to be the worst that I’ve ever had— the worst that many have had. The last that many will have. A global health crisis was brewing abroad in late 2019, but likely arrived in Las Vegas after the city hosted it’s largest, and most profitable, international trade show in January 2020— the Consumer Electronic Show (CES). From seemingly nowhere, the coronavirus COVID-19 began to dominate national and local news. Cancellations of gigs began pouring into my email inbox in early March. A week or so later, I would be unemployed for the next six months.

September 2020
I finally got a call from “the district” (Clark County School District) and knew that opportunity had come knocking. Orchestra vacancy for a middle school. This was something I had done before, so I had a general sense of what to expect (e.g. the impending chaos of figuratively trying to catch a moving train). But the looming isolation of teaching in an empty room to a class of faceless preteens was new. Making the decision to equip every student with an instrument of their own was another challenge that resulted in lots of time at school off the clock. I’m not quite sure if I regret it yet. Educators are exploited enough for unpaid labor as is; but my intent was to make my life easier in the future. I didn’t want orchestra to be a book-heavy class, and what’s the point in learning music without playing it. Also, I’m not very knowledgeable about music despite my ability to perform it. (That’s a discussion for another day)

October 2020
Self-doubt, anxiety, and a few minor meltdowns. I’m way in over my head. I can’t read bass clef or alto clef. I just got a crash course in Google Meet, Canvas, Infinite Campus, GoGuardian a few weeks prior and now it’s recommended that I add SmartMusic to the digital toolkit! I’m being bombarded with emails from staff and students. I’m not sleeping well. I’m irritable and perpetually tired. I miss having control over my time. I miss doing gigs. I want to quit but I can’t afford to be unemployed again. This is so unfair.

November 2020
My school finally hires an instructional aide! Another human is there with me (physically distanced of course).

Local, state, and national elections are here; and suddenly, my students have become experts on electoral politics (they only care about the results of the presidential election of course).

Cases are spiking. Teachers must now work from home for the rest of the calendar year.

I don’t feel like quitting as much but I’m still exhausted. Thanksgiving break: Please get here in a hurry! I need five consecutive days off.

Teaching remotely from home

I’m still working hard and the aide is a big help, but I’m out of gas.

Teaching via computer sucks. Period. It’s hard for teachers, admin, parents, and most importantly the students. It’s lonely and antisocial. No one wants to sit in front of a computer for hours a day pretend to maintain attentiveness. I don’t blame the kids for having their cameras off– especially the ones who live in noisy, chaotic environments.

The alternatives suck too. In person instruction is dumb and risky for all. Blended learning or hybrid learning is well intended but also risky and will end in sudden closures (as it already has).

Criminal (Pt. 3)

by Brandon Summers | August 1, 2018

The police can be mean, the jails can be cruel, and the court system can be extremely unjust and unfair. If you have money and representation, you’ll be alright. If you don’t, there’s a good chance you are screwed. In my case, my dad is a seasoned lawyer who was willing to represent me free of charge. I was a bit apprehensive when we arrived to the courthouse on Monday, July 16, 2013. This particular hearing wasn’t a big deal. I was simply there to acknowledge the charges and make a plea. “Not guilty” were the magic words and a court date was set for a bench trial in October. My dad and I were in and out of the Regional Justice Center (RJC) in 20 minutes.

As my bench trial date approached in October, my dad got in contact with the state prosecutor. He made his case and sent the prosecutor the video that I recorded. Unfortunately, he didn’t hear back from the prosecutor until the last minute. In the twelfth hour, we cut a deal— charges dismissed in lieu of 30 hours of community service or $300 fine and a “stay out of trouble” diversion. We still showed up to court on October 2, 2013 and sat through the other proceedings until my name was called. I guess the judge was not informed of the deal made by the prosecutor, so the judge was prepared for a bench trial. Once she was made aware, she and my dad had a good laugh and I was dismissed. That was it. I went to the court cashier, paid $300 and this whole stupid ordeal was over just like that. Case No: 13M15505X “The State of Nevada vs. Brandon Summers” was settled.

From an efficiency standpoint, I think that having prosecutors and defense attorneys cut deals outside of the courtroom is an incredible practice. This saves the courts, judges, defendants, and potential jurors lots of time. However, it also introduces an inherent inequity in terms of justice for poor, unrepresented clients. I didn’t have to go to court with a lawyer, but I did because my dad is one. I’m not sure if I would have paid a lawyer or contacted a public defender in an alternate reality because I may not have known any better– or maybe I would have been too broke to even consider it.

When I was a junior in college, I got caught with empty beer cans in my dorm room during a room inspection. It was a victim-less crime, I was 21 years old, but my school was a dry campus– so there were consequences. I showed up to court and took whatever the judge gave me. I was sentenced to 70 hours of community service. I never told my parents about it until after the fact because I didn’t want them to be upset or disappointed. In hindsight, the punishment was unfair and immoral, but I just wanted the situation to go away. I probably should have gotten an attorney.

Occasionally, I would look up the charges of other street performers I knew online. I was trying to look out for people because I realized it was easy to get caught up in the system. I saw a few performers who actually plead guilty to petty misdemeanor charges without even going to trial. It makes the situation go away, but now they have a criminal history. One of my mom’s biggest concerns for me was avoiding having a record, no matter how insignificant. She’s worked in government for twenty plus years and she understands the obstacles faced by people who have a criminal record, even if the crime was committed decades ago. She also knows that it’s another strike in addition to being a black male; and I believe she’s absolutely right. When I applied to become a Clark County School District (CCSD) Substitute teacher in 2015, my “criminal history” (even though I was never convicted) was an obstacle in the hiring process (well, CCSD is actually an obstacle in the hiring process… for another day).

When I hear stories about people pleading guilty to crimes they didn’t commit (or a crime they could beat in court), I absolutely believe it.

Any decision made while incarcerated is a decision made under duress.
Any decision made while you’re broke is a decision made under duress.

If pleading guilty to a crime gets you out of jail, allows you to go home to your family and back to your job, I see why people do it. It’s a cheap and expedient fix in the moment, but a terrible decision down the line. Meanwhile, judges, prosecutors, and attorneys are insulated from how defendants feel; or how defendants are treated by the police and jails– the humiliation of being placed in handcuffs or the lump in the back of one’s throat as a judge decides their fate. All they see is a case number and stack of paperwork. I’m not suggesting that our society burn the courts to the ground, but they are inherently flawed and inequitable.

Criminal (Pt. 2)

by Brandon Summers | July 21, 2018

The ride from the Las Vegas Strip to the Clark County Detention Center (CCDC) was quick. CCDC is in the downtown area, just footsteps away from The Fremont Street Experience. Once I was taken to processing, that would be the last time I’d ever see Officer Smith #9643. The handcuffs were taken off, and I sat on a bench until my name was called for fingerprints and a mugshot. I had to take off my shoes and put on slippers, but I didn’t have to don a jumpsuit. Next, I was moved to a holding cell. The entire process seemed surreal, but it started to sink in that I had been arrested.

The holding cell was crowded. There were probably 15 people in this confined space. There were floating benches on either side of the narrow rectangular room as well as two free pay phones. It seemed like someone was always using one. The cell was mostly silent aside from the sporadic phone calls and the toilet flushing. Everyone’s mood was somber, resigned, and anxious. Nobody wanted to be there. Everybody wanted out— it was Saturday. Most of the individuals in the cell seemed to be there for a victimless crime– an unpaid traffic ticket, public intoxication, etc. I didn’t get the vibe that I was surrounded by hardened criminals, and thankfully nobody stunk.

Now that I was settled, I had to make that dreaded 2am phone call. My dad answered the phone.

“Are you okay?” my dad asked as he was clearly woken up.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I got arrested on a bench warrant. What do I do now?” I said calmly.

“I gotta bail you out. Call your mother in an hour while I work on this” my dad replied.

My dad is lawyer. He knows what to do, so I’m reassured that things will be fine (and I’m glad he’s not pissed). But in the meantime, I’m just stuck in cell with a bunch of strangers that I have no intention of talking to or befriending. The adrenaline begins to wear off and it becomes apparent that the cell is cold– like really cold. The previous occupants stuck toilet paper in the ceiling vent to restrict the airflow. Everybody was pinned to a wall and curled into the fetal position to conserve body heat. The lucky ones had secured a roll of toilet paper as a makeshift pillow. I found a spot in one corner of the room, curled into a ball, and pretended to sleep. But it was impossible to sleep. I was on a cement floor, the lights were always on, and it was probably 65 degrees in that room. It was dull and miserable. I’m just glad that I didn’t have to take a shit.

In addition to the cold, it became apparent was that there was no clock– no way to tell time. Some of the people in the cell would call a friend just to ask the time. And since there was no natural sunlight and the lights were always on, I became disoriented pretty quickly. I couldn’t discern between 15 minutes or an hour. What little “sleep” I got was interrupted by a phone call or the toilet flushing; and there was this annoying dude who kept whining about being locked up for 2-3 days. He was in search of a captive audience, but everyone was doing their best to ignore him. Occasionally the cell door would open. It was either to let someone out on bail or to serve a meal. I was hoping that my name would be called soon since my dad was on top of this situation. That wasn’t the case.

Bailed Out

Unfortunately, it takes time to process “inmates”. That process means that no one is getting out any sooner than 12 hours. Even though my dad was in contact with the bail bondsmen as soon as I called him, I didn’t appear in the system. The bondsmen situation was eventually worked out and I was told I would be out in a few hours. It was just a waiting game now. In the meantime, I was just doing my best to pretend to sleep and ignore the guy who wouldn’t stop talking. I believe I received two meals while I was in holding. The portions were small and I gave my milk away since I’m lactose intolerant. Eventually the cell door opened and my name was called. I pretended not to be excited, but my entire body wanted to race out the door. I was going home.

Of course it wouldn’t be that simple. I was taken to a different concrete room with one occupant, and I had to wait some more. I think 45 minutes passed before the door opened and an officer called my name. I signed some paperwork before being handed my possessions and the $190 I earned the night before. The only thing I wasn’t given back was my tip bucket. I guess it was mistaken for junk. When the final door opened, the sunlight was hot and blaring. I escaped the freezer just to be be put into an oven. I checked my phone and it was noon. I was free at last.

I called my dad to let him know I was out and he said he was on his way. We had to make one more stop. The bail bondsmen. When we got there, we were greeted by Byron Cadoc was a nice guy– a proud military veteran in his forties. Everything was sorted out in a few minutes. I had to sign some paperwork to consent to the cost of the bond and acknowledge that I would show up in court on Monday. My bail was set at $3,000— $1,000 for the initial charge, $1,000 for the warrant, and $1,000 for the bogus charge officer Smith #9643 threw on in retaliation for filming our encounter. My dad paid Byron $450 and we were on our way. I’m just glad that he and my mom were not upset with me. They were concerned more than anything else. I was just ready to take a shower. Sleeping on a concrete floor for 12 hours is an overrated experience.

Criminal (Pt. 1)

by Brandon Summers | July 13, 2018

I never imagined I would find myself in the back of a patrol car in handcuffs– Nor imagine having my mugshot taken, being fingerprinted, and eventually placed in an icy, crowded holding cell with a bunch of strangers. This outcome is only reserved for deserving criminals– thieves, murders, rapists, pedophiles, and drunk drivers. But 5 years ago, I was in this predicament. How did I get here?

The circumstances leading up to this moment were largely out of my control. Casinos, local politicians, and the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department (LVMPD) had been devising ways to purge the Las Vegas Strip of street performers for years (more on that later). I have some responsibility in this situation, but it is minimal. I got a ticket in April 2013 while street performing. I unwittingly missed my court date (June 13, 2013), and ended up with a warrant for my arrest. After going months without significant interaction with police, I assumed my ticket was dropped. Unfortunately, I was wrong.

Friday, July 13, 2013 was hot as usual. The summer heat in Las Vegas is merciless, so I played during the evening to avoid the sun. I started performing around 8pm and wrapped up my set around midnight. I was setup about 30 feet away from a McDonald’s near the intersection of Harmon and Las Vegas Blvd; and by that time the police were running their evening foot patrol, I was completely packed up– ready to go home. My friend “Nas”, a big dude from Philly who hung out with me most nights, was sitting to my right. He acted as defacto security and helped pass the time by making jokes and talking shit. I appreciated his presence and It was nice that we could look out for one another. What I didn’t know was that he had previous run-ins with the cops when I wasn’t around. He sold weed (allegedly), but I wasn’t aware of that considering he never did it in front of me. Once LVMPD’s foot patrol came in contact with us, an officer recognized “Nas” immediately. Rather than focus his efforts on him, the officer zeroed in on me. I assume that counting the night’s earnings in my bucket aroused the officer’s suspicion.

Once I realized a confrontation was imminent, I pulled out my phone and began recording. I had experience with police encounters, and I knew that capturing cellphone video was the only way to tell the whole story. I politely asked for the officer’s name, badge number, and the reason for the stop. He explained to me that “Nas” was a guy known to have narcotics and we looked suspicious. By then, he had already grabbed my tip bucket and was running his hands through the pile of bills. I was irritated, nervous, and defiant– ready to stand my ground; but I couldn’t stop my hands from shaking and the officer noticed.

“Why you shaking man? [Are] you nervous?” asked officer Smith #9643.

“Yeah, because you guys have guns, pepper spray, and tasers” I replied.

The rest of the stop was routine. One of Officer Smith’s wing-men ran my ID while he had me stand, and extend my arms to conduct a pat down for weapons. Officer Smith #9643 asked me a series of leading questions to see if I would self-incriminate. Once he realized that he didn’t have any evidence to continue his investigation, he tried to lighten the mood. I wasn’t amused. The whole experience was humiliating as usual, but it was over in less than four minutes. Smith #9643 made mention of an ordinance that he could have ticketed me for, but said he was going to cut me a break and let me go home. How benevolent.

Just as he was getting ready to move on, Officer Smith #9643 had me stand up once more for a pat down. That’s when he placed me in handcuffs and informed me of my bench warrant. I was going to jail– on the weekend. As Officer Smith escorted me to his patrol car he made the following remark:

“That’s what you get for fucking recording!”

I wasn’t expecting that, but I knew that police officers don’t like their authority being challenged; and in return are capable of retaliation— verbal and physical. I’d seen the YouTube videos (we all have) and experienced it in person during my time as a busker. Tonight my number was up. I sat in the patrol car with my hands and feet shackled for about 20 minutes until the vehicle lurched forward en route to the Clark County Detention Center.

Officer Smith #9643 / July 14, 2015
Las Vegas Blvd./Harmon Ave.

I’m Graduating!

by Brandon Summers | May 1, 2017

It’s been a long time coming, but it’s finally going to happen. I’m sure the number one question friends and relatives are going to ask me this week is “how does it feel?” or “how do you feel?”. Well, it feels unreal; but it also feels like a weight has been lifted off of my shoulders. I’m also the type of person who doesn’t get excited about things until they’re right in front of my face– so it’s likely that I will reserve any emotion for the moment after I walk across the stage. That’s when it will sink in.

I am grateful for all those who I have met along the way, and especially those who have been in my corner. I couldn’t have done it without you. Shout-outs:

Mom & Dad, and *Dad
My Brothers & my best friend
My family
Cullen and his family
Fort Valley friends
Fort Valley instructors
Dr. Asadian – my favorite professor. RIP
Dr. Dubriel
Dr. Abbera
Dr. Pitts
Ms. Burell
Ms. Pollard
Moore Hall // Rat Hole
Josh Reagan (UNLV)
ClearWaters Family Guidance and Wellness Center
UNLV Library
Facebook fam
Darling Nikki & Esperanza
Hudson Jeans, DJ MK, Nordstrom
Street Performing & everybody who dropped money in my tip jar.
J Dilla, Flying Lotus, Thundercat – the soundtrack through this journey

Fuck Depression