Our gracious liege lord, The Coonman, has decreed that previously “non-essential” businesses may “reopen.” But not really.
The doors to the previously walk-in hair-cut place I’ve been going to for years are still locked. They only open if you have made an appointment – and you may only come in if you are wearing a Fear Mask. An odd thing to insist on since sick people shouldn’t be going to get their hair cut.
And if they’re not sick then wearing a Fear Mask makes as much sense as wearing a diaper – assuming you aren’t incontinent.
Well, it makes sinister sense.
From a certain standpoint. Masking Mandates keep people fearful and that fear supports the “new abnormal” of no longer being able to just walk into a hair cut place or restaurant, sit down and get a haircut or a meal. One must pretend that sickness abounds.
And in a sense, it does.
Not physical sickness. Mental sickness. Weaponized fear of sickness, rather. Which is really weaponized fear of life.
Well, the woman who cuts my hair – used to cut my hair – saw me and came to the door. She unlocked it and we had a brief conversation. I told her I would like to get my hair cut but that I will not wear a Fear Mask because I’m not sick and not afraid of getting sick. I also told her that not being able to just walk in when it’s convenient for me is a deal-breaker, to. I have never planned my day around a haircut and don’t plan to now. My practice has always been to make good use of my time. I swing by the haircut place when I have some extra time. Usually – well, previously – I was able to just walk in and walk out ten minutes later, hair cut.
I won’t accept anything less – for the sake of assuaging the anxieties of people crippled by mental illness.
So I told my hair cut lady that we should meet at an Undisclosed Location for a samizdat haircut. The reference is Soviet. It means underground, illegal. The only way to do normal things – like express an opinion – in the old Soviet Union.
Or get a haircut in the USSA, today.
I told my haircut lady that I would pay her full freight plus a large tip. That she would get every dollar instead of the hair cut place getting almost all of my dollars. I am hoping she is only wearing the Fear Mask out of fear for her job and that I will hear from her soon, on the down low.
That she’ll cut my hair without either of us wearing a Fear Mask – able to see each other’s faces and hear each other’s voices – like human beings used to do.
Before this inhuman obsession with sickness took hold.
. . .
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