I stumbled onto the closing of my favorite coffee shop last week. I was headed to the counter to order, then I looked up and saw there were 15 employees – many more than would usually be there – all standing around. Drinking not coffee but beer.

It was clear, instantly, what was happening. They had all been laid off.

The coffee shop was shutting down – temporarily, we hope – like thousands of stores and restaurants all over Memphis. Like millions more all over the country.

I know those 15 people in that passing but oddly meaningful way you get to know all the people at your coffee shop. Or your bar. Or your corner store. Or whatever places are essential parts of your daily routine.

I’ve gone to this coffee shop nearly every day for the last two and a half years. It was staffed by the nicest, most hardworking people. Kids mostly. Kids to me, at least.

As they thanked me for coming to the coffee shop so often, even volunteering to make me one last cup of coffee, I awkwardly thanked them. Then, still awkwardly, I found myself saying, “I’m worried about each of you. Every single one of you.”

And then, suddenly, I started to cry.

What will they do? How will they get by? When will they work again?

Every day for a week now, I’ve gotten hit by a wall of exhaustion late in the afternoon. Total exhaustion. I have to close my eyes. Sit for a bit. Try to let it pass.

It took me till yesterday to figure out what it is. Worry.

I’m worried about everyone. Not just my family, not just my friends, not just the people who work around me. But every single person I see.

And the worry that consumes me is not about people’s health. I am, of course, concerned about that. I don’t want people to get sick. And I’m nearly despondent over the fate of the poor, the unhealthy, uninsured, the homeless.

But I find that what most consumes me is my worry about the economic impact of this disaster. An impact whose duration will, it seems obvious, far exceed that of the pandemic itself.

To be clear, I’m not doubting the need for social distancing. I understand why there are mandatory closures. On those issues I’ll defer to the scientists and medical professionals. We’re already paying enough of a price for not listening to them.

Still, I am constantly worrying about the recession we have already entered. In the drugstore foraging for supplies, I look around, wondering how the other people shopping will get by if they lose their jobs? How long will all the people working from home still be employed? When will those kids from the coffee shop – kids who were in high school or even elementary school in the 2008 Great Recession – find a job again?

Maybe I’m overreacting. Please convince me that I am.

But I have friends whose businesses in Memphis have been hit so hard and so fast that they are already beyond reeling. And this is not just restaurants or bars. It’s not just the owners and employees of the businesses who’ve been subjected to various mandatory and de facto shutdowns.

These are businesses whose customer bases have, in just a week’s time, collapsed. Businesses whose revenue is already down 30%, 50%, sometimes even more. These are businesses who’ve already laid people off – and who’ve cut the wages of those who remain by 10, 20, even 30%.

These are businesses that, just a few weeks ago, were operating like normal. That were experiencing the benefits of the strong economy.

And so the speed of that change can’t help but raise the question: What will be happening a few weeks from now?

Please, tell me I’m wrong.