Lee Geiger

The only real prison is fear, and the only real freedom is freedom from fear.

Aung San Suu Kyi, 1991 Noble Peace Prize recipient

Like a man on a mission, I rolled into the Moraga Safeway one day to pick up some milk and cookies. Other locals like me were lined up in front of the store resembling cattle waiting for slaughter, and their tepid, Zombie-like bearings suggested likewise. I grabbed my phone and AirPods and headed for the back of the queue, intent on squeezing as much lemonade as I could out of this latest lemonary norm. Twenty minutes later I had graduated to the front of the line only to be greeted by the Door Nazi, a mature woman dressed in a 2020 equivalent of a HAZMAT suit; black mask, blue gloves, and hair and shoe nets befitting a front-line emergency room doctor. Accessorizing this apocalyptic get-up was a pair of gold, bug-eyed wraparound ski goggles reflecting the entirety of the Southern Hemisphere. She looked like a dragonfly in drag.

“Where is your mask, sir?” inquired the grocery store bouncer, whose Darth Vader wheeze was reminiscent of my mother asking me where I had put my retainer. “You KNOW you’re not allowed to enter the store without a mask.”

“Oh, Christ on a bike!” I proclaimed while slamming my hand into my forehead. “I left the damn thing back in the car.” I paused for a moment, like a frightened lamb standing in front of a wolf who hadn’t eaten in three days, hoping she’d grant me a pardon. No such luck. Heir Dragonfly’s body language said all that needed to be said; return to your car, grab your mask, and take your amnesia-filled butt back to the end of the line. Any questions?

I despise having to wear a mask whilst out in public. It makes me feel like I’m being punished, sentenced to silence for something I must or might have said. Smothering my lips and nose with a piece of cloth or synthetic something makes me want to bite my tongue, fearful that I’ll be forced to swallow whatever words boomeranging back into my throat. There’s just one problem; a mute button is not coded into my DNA.

Maybe it’s just me, but it seems that since donning a mask became a fashion statement there is a whole lot less idle chatter taking place, especially now that we’re all made to look like we’re participating in a communal bank heist. That may be a good thing, because I’m losing interest in what other people have to say. Especially when it comes to politics, which is unfortunate since politics is ALL anyone seems to want to talk about these days. Yes, this COVID-crisis is sucking the wind out of our collective economic and cultural sails. And yes, the present leader of the free world is a narcissistic jerk of the first order. But please, folks, can’t we talk about something else? How ‘bout those Giants? Oh wait, never mind.

Though I may not like it, so long as we’re holed up together in this pandemic, I’m prepared to follow the rules and wear a mask, be it when I’m out and about to buy stamps, pay for my green fee, get my hair cut or order the garlic butter shrimp pasta entree with a side dish of truffle fries. And I’ll happily wear one whenever I’m in the presence of someone whose personal social distancing code requires it. Because when you come right down to it, the purpose of ME wearing a mask is to protect YOU, and to ignore someone’s request to respect their health is to show disrespect and disregard for their well-being. I may be a lot of things, but being disrespectful toward someone, especially if their goal is to stay healthy and remain above ground for a few more years, is a trait I try to avoid at all costs. Unless, of course, I WANT to be disrespectful, in which case no matter how much you whine and protest I’ll force you to make that two-footer for the halve (that’s golf trash talk).

But let me say this; I refuse to live what’s left of my life in fear. I’ve examined the odds, and I believe they lean in my favor. I’m in decent shape, not yet elderly, and have no discernable preexisting conditions. I wash my hands more than a neurosurgeon, and the only time I bring them to my face it to slap myself silly for not buying stocks in April. Given all that, I figure I’ve got about a one in a hundred chance of catching the virus, and if it did catch me, I’ve got roughly a 95% of living through it. Life is to be played, and at some point you’ve got to take the risk, get in the ring, and take a punch.

So, if I enter a room and the person across from me asks if I’d prefer not to wear a mask, despite me not knowing where they’ve been and them not knowing where I’ve been, I’m most likely going to say OK. We may agree to avoid shaking hands, kissing cheeks, twisting arms and rubbing noses, but that will be our choice.

That being said, I have a one-word message I wish to share to those who refuse to wear a mask in public, rationalizing to themselves that being asked or required to do so by their state or local government is some sort of “don’t tread on me” moment.

Really?

My money says you drove to your protest while sober, wearing a seatbelt, and cruising down a highway within shouting distance of the speed limit. That’s called public safety, folks, and a civil society can’t exist without it. In the case of the those deciding to go mask-less to flip the bird to the Masked Majority, it’s not about the science and it’s not about the policy. It’s about signaling who you are and what you feel. There’s a time and place for that, but a pandemic isn’t it.

I’m just saying.

Have a safe and enjoyable Memorial Day weekend.