Just Wear The F*cking Mask

September 3, 2020 at 12:12 pm (Cussed Dumbers, Drunk and disorderly)

“All right you motherstickers, this is a fuck up!”

“Mask on, please.”

“Gotta wear a mask.”

“Can you pull your mask up for me?”

“Mask. Mask. MASK. HEY! Ignore me and I REALLY WILL single you out.”

It’s the new “Welcome to WalMart.”

As you all know by now, we are in the brave new world, things have changed, and we all have to do our part if we want to survive. That includes wearing a face panty.

I was not happy with the mandate to wear masks. I have asthma, and allergies, and COPD, and… you’ve heard this from every non-mask-wearing person not in a MAGA hat. I have an excuse! Or they mimic the Black Lives Matter chant, ‘I can’t breathe!’

If Slipknot can jump around in a firepit for two hours with a rubber bag over their head, you can make it ten minutes with a Kleenex taped to your mouth. (Seen it.)

I’ve seen a young black man wearing cut-off Underoos over his face, little boy crotch hanging by his chin. (Points and laughter for this mask.) I had a wino remove his open can of Camo and hold a black plastic bag over his face. “Will this work?”

Um, no.

One drunken rioter was bitching about the price of cigarettes when what looked like a tired, overworked law enforcement type entered without wearing a mask. He grabbed a bottle of water and moved toward the counter. He’s making it quick, not irritating me in any way, I can skip being a dick every tenth time…

“Whoa whoa whoa, dude! Back the fuck up! You ain’t even wearing a mask!” The drunken rioter was exerting his free speech rights in a most annoying and inebriated fashion.

“Excuuuse me!” said the cop-type, nearly impersonating Steve Martin. “I didn’t realize you were so health-compromised, what with the American Spirits and all. Here, I’ll just leave. I hope you don’t get the Covid when I walk past…” He moved past Riot Dude, and I wish he’d punched him. Cope Dude did pause and say, “You little BITCH.” Cop Dude walked out

Riot Dude started babbling, but I cut him off. “Anything else? Have a nice day.” I didn’t say it like I meant it.

The most personally irritating for me is the pulling-of-the-shirt collar-over-the-nose move. It seemed a reasonable alternative at first, ugly as it may look. But everyone I allowed would get three steps past me and the shirt would come down and they’d only pull it up if they saw me looking at them. Then everybody else pulls the “But you let him/her/them/ do it!” Since everyone these days is acting like a twelve year-old on her first period, I just make it a rule for everyone. Mask has to stay up, or no service.

“Gotta have a mask.”

Dude pulls shirt up over his nose. “Will this work?”

“No. Has to be a mask.”

“But it does the same thing as a mask.” Pleading, gotta have that 99-cent soda.

“Dude, it looks like you’re obsessed with huffing your own farts.”

I was slow to embrace the mask. I was given a couple of cloth ones, but they interrupt the air flow. Since wearing the mask on your chin quickly became a social faux pas, I needed a functional alternative. I was expected to wear that shit ALL DAY at work. No fuckin’ way.

I dug around and found my PBR (“Heineken? Fuck that sshit! PABST… BLUE… RIBBON!”) bandana gifted from my sister; a souvenir from the Waterfront music festival when I saw Father John Misty perform for free on my lunch hour. (People thirty feet away payed $100. I stood on a shady sidewalk.) With a little wrangling, I could create a breathing tunnel. Unless I had to look at my feet for long periods of time, carbon dioxide flows enough that I don’t get the hot and dizzies. I score a handful of masks from the TriMet dispensary every day, to hand out to those I want in the store. Everybody’s happy!

“Howdy fella…”

I have several bandanas now, and I think of them as the new necktie. I felt silly wearing them at first. I felt like John Wayne, calling everyone “Pilgrim” and sashaying around the store. Now I make them work for me. You’d be surprised how easy it is to hit a vape pen on the bus when all the windows are open, and it’s just you…

Perhaps the most surreal thing is when I have to do a bank run. I have to stop before entering and put on a mask. I show them who I am, replace the mask, and then they let me in. This goes contrary to every bank robbery movie I’ve ever seen. Portland really IS liberal! I did look both ways for snipers when I left.

For forty years, I’ve been trained to flinch and react when I see someone enter the store wearing a mask. Now it’s the opposite. (As someone pointed out a while back, fifty years ago weed was illegal and haircuts were mandatory. Now, haircuts are illegal and pot is for sale everywhere.) It’s given some of the shitbirds a second chance. If they wear a good enough mask, and behave, they too can get the Master P’s Grand Slam Dinner, a 99-cent soda and a $2 box of Little Debbie’s. I try not to look too hard. Choose your battles.

But when the shrtless fella skated into the store with no mask, I told him, “Turn yourself around, point your nipples thataway, and roll off into the sunset. Shoes, shirt AND mask required…”

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