San Francisco, like so much of the world, is scary right now. People are stressed out, exhausted and anxious about how long these new shutdown orders to stem the spread of the coronavirus will last.

People are already getting sick and have already lost their jobs. It’s a tragedy unfolding in front of us.

But even a pandemic can’t rob the city of its beloved trademarks: creativity, innovation, good humor, compassion and an obsession with all things tech.

I’d argue that a city in which FaceTime, Skype and Zoom have long been just regular verbs, in which whimsy is still greatly appreciated, and in which many of us genuinely want to help, we’re relatively well-suited to entertain and take care of each other as we hunker down.

A group of friends that usually meets every Friday for breakfast at the Pork Store Cafe in the Mission plans to connect on Zoom this Friday instead. They’ll scramble their own eggs and eat them — separately, but together. And then they plan to buy online gift cards for their beloved breakfast joint in the same amount they would have spent in an effort to help the restaurant now and use the cards later.

Remember that outdoor warning system siren that used to blast for 15 seconds every Tuesday at noon before it was shuttered in December for upgrades? A group of San Franciscans on Twitter figured we could actually use that siren now, so they coordinated an effort to go outside on Tuesday at noon and scream.

Hey, whatever it takes to let off steam.

“My kids were worried that no one else was doing it, and I reassured them that people on Twitter were indeed screaming,” said John Oram, a Twitter celebrity who goes by the name Burrito Justice.

I guess I know what we’re all doing next Tuesday at noon. Hear you then.

Sharky Laguana is trying to help San Francisco — with vans. The president of the city’s small business commission owns Bandago, which rents 600 passenger vans, mostly to touring music groups. With entertainment venues shut, bands aren’t touring — and his company is nearly kaput.

“There’s only so much money in the bank account, and there’s not much money coming in right now. It’s pretty close to zero,” said the Sunnyside resident of his company. “But there’s no f— way I’m giving up.”

There’s also no bleeping way he’s going to let his 600 vans just sit there when his city is in crisis. So he’s working with City Hall and other local governments to offer them free use of his vans to transport homeless people to shelters or whatever else is needed.

He said his staff was gloomy until he told them their vans did have a purpose.

“My staff morale was boosted tremendously when I said, ‘This is a war, and we’re going to f— fight it,’” he said, understandably in a bit of a salty mood. “It seems like we might have a role to play here, and if we can, it would be an honor and a privilege.”

At Bird and Beckett bookstore in Glen Park on Monday afternoon — hours before the midnight shutdown would force the store to close — owner Eric Whittington was helping numerous customers stock up on books to pass the time. He lives in the same building as the store and said he intended to keep working, even if his customers weren’t allowed inside.

He planned to take orders online and over the phone and said he’d even try to make deliveries in the neighborhood or run outside on the sidewalk to make curbside deliveries if that’s allowed.

“I get to be in my store without a lot of people — it’ll be great!” he said with a laugh.

He described the mood among his customers as “cautiously, cheerfully mystified.”

While we chatted, my 6-year-old read a storybook called, ironically, “17 Things I’m Not Allowed To Do Anymore.”

The happiest my 9-year-old has been since life ground to a halt was Tuesday morning when he took a virtual drawing class from Potrero Hill illustrator Wendy MacNaughton. Follow @wendymac on Instagram, where she’s streaming highly amusing kids’ drawing lessons each morning at 10.

“Hellloooo!” she greeted kids, a pencil precariously balanced on her curled upper lip. “I’m Wendy. What’s your name? Unfortunately, I can’t hear you.”

She credits her mom with giving her the idea to help take the load off parents who are trying to work from home and homeschool their kids at the same time. She and her wife don’t have kids, but she said she “thrives in the auntie role” and was eager to help.

She leads kids in a drawing lesson while sprinkling in thoughts about paying attention to your feelings during unsettling times. She then encourages kids to post pictures of their creations online with the hashtag #drawtogether.

She initially said she’d lead the classes all week, but said the response has been so positive, she’ll continue them for as long as they’re helpful.

“The art class must go on!” she said. “There’s a lot going on right now, and drawing can be a great way to settle down and think about our feelings, what’s going on under the surface in all of us.”

She acknowledged that not every family has the required gadgets, connectivity and Instagram account, but said she’s looking for ways to connect with even more kids.

Other San Franciscans are using their talents to help, too. Dogpatch poet Mc Allen regularly stands outside Cafe Reverie in Cole Valley, offering free poems to passersby. He can’t do that anymore so he’s taking the poems online. On Twitter (@that_mc), he started “Quarantine Poetry Canvas,” where he’s recording himself reading another poem for every like and retweet.

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When I checked Tuesday afternoon, he’d read more than 80 poems. He said if he gets to 1,000, he’ll read “Howl” by famed San Francisco beatnik poet Allen Ginsburg. Start liking and retweeting, folks.

“I’ve been feeling down,” he said of his normal sidewalk poetry readings being canceled. “I thought maybe I could just read poems anyway and connect with people. I would like to see a lot more people trying to put beautiful things back out into the world.”

If you quote-tweet him, he even takes requests. I requested “Still I Rise” by Maya Angelou, and within minutes, there it was, Allen reading the late San Francisco writer’s lines about strength, resilience and courage.

“Just like moons and like suns, with the certainty of tides,” he read. “Just like hopes springing high, still I’ll rise.”

San Francisco Chronicle columnist Heather Knight usually appears Sundays and Tuesdays. Email: hknight@sfchronicle.com Twitter: @hknightsf Instagram: @heatherknightsf

More Information Do you know a San Franciscan who’s doing something creative, helpful or just plain weird to weather the shutdown? Let columnist Heather Knight know via hknight@sfchronicle.com. Answers may be used in a future column.