Changes

There will be volumes written over the coming decades about the long-term changes the COVID-19 pandemic has caused. I don't know of any left over from the Spanish Flu of 1918. Some might say laws against spitting were made then, but those existed already because of tuberculosis, and were tightened up then. 

Maybe in twenty years other things will have eclipsed the pandemic to such a degree that it'll be forgotten. World War II is probably much of the reason the 1918 flu faded in memory. In five years someone will see a public bathroom door handle like the one in the picture above and have to turn some memory gears to recall why it was put there and when, and maybe wonder if it wasn't put there before or after unrelated to the pandemic.

Future results

Everything will be all right one day. 
Scientists will develop a vaccine that works and even deniers will clamor for it, except for a stubborn few who,

sadly, may become victims of a kind of social Darwinism. Most won't be affected personally by it and when they encounter something that sparks a memory of its reality—a can of beans in back of a cupboard, a faded receipt for an absurd amount of toilet paper in a drawer—a question will flash: Did all that really happen? 
It will come up in random conversations. A few lines with a cashier at a drug store when buying hand sanitizer. People with the flu talking about how staying in for a few days means nothing to them now. A remote connection: a friend who's wife's boss's uncle died from it. There will be books and movies with it as a major plot point. Critics will describe the best ones as being fair in their telling, but they will be seen by others, needlessly, through a political lens, as most things are now. 
People will travel again and visit places that were much harder hit than their own. Unlike a war or a tsunami, there will be nothing visual to remember it by. No rebuilt buildings or beaches, no memorials besides graveyards. 
Other than those who lost people important to them, those who died from the disease, and loved ones they couldn't visit in their final days in places where the elderly lived, the hardest hit will be the young who graduated from schools that spring and found no opportunities due to the economy's stoppage. Some will have remained positive during the hard time. Others will be like dogs too often whipped, their expectations lowered, grateful to find anything, in fear of capricious workplace superiors, who gained ample experience in firing others.   

Pandemic chow time

More than most people, I worry about my weight. When you have one leg and are on crutches forever, you don't want to get severely overweight, and exercise has been hard for me since I ruined my shoulder two years ago. Swimming's out and, to be honest, I wasn't considering it anyway because I'm hyper self conscious and not about to get in a public

Shoppers at a large grocery store.

pool. I go crutching in the park nearby but that's limiting, again because of the shoulder. Crutching is all upper body work; my remaining leg hardly gets any exercise.
To avoid gaining weight, I stepped up the intermittent fasting regimen I've been doing for over a year to a more extreme version of it; instead of not eating two days a week, I eat only every other day. That means I had dinner last night, nothing today, and I won't eat until I have breakfast tomorrow. I've been doing this for about two months now. I've lost five pounds and would like to lose another five but even though I don't make a pig of myself on the days I eat, that seems not to be an option. The worst times are around the evening of the day you don't eat. The next morning seems to be far off, and you have elaborate visions of what your breakfast will be, even if it's just a simple bowl of steel cut oats, a favorite of mine. I put in walnuts, raisins, cinnamon, ginger, and a dollop of peanut butter.
My joke about intermittent fasting is that it sharpens my mind but all I can think about is food. A joke, but it really does sharpen my mind. Also, around four o'clock on the afternoons of what I call my "hungry days" I feel physically light and strong. 
Presently (I'm writing this as the 2020 coronavirus pandemic has become an unpleasant reality in America) I feel it's given me a mental edge over some others. Many are hoarding groceries, unable and unwilling to imagine doing without things they love for even a day. I know from experience that missing a few meals won't hurt you. 
I've heard good explanations about why Americans and others are hoarding toilet paper, but they still make no sense to me and seeing it happen makes me view my fellow Americans with a little contempt. It seems all they want to do is eat and shit.