My girlfriend and I just had a Close Encounter of the Diapering Kind at the Barnes & Noble in Roanoke. We’ve been there two or three times during the “pandemic” and while they have a Diapers muss sein sign on the door, no one ever bothered us about ignoring it.
My girlfriend was the one they accosted. I was in the History section, which for me is what catnip is to my crew of F. Domesticus back at the homestead. I always end up with something.
She was in the aisle adjacent, looking at something else when a Mobile Diaper Dispenser approached her, proffering the disgusting thing insistently. She refused, of course – it’s one of the reasons why she is my girlfriend; the woman has more balls than most men – and the old Bagged Hag skulked off.
I didn’t realize this interaction had happened because I wasn’t close enough to overhear it. But my girlfriend quickly told me the particulars and as we discussed this bizarre business – a total stranger coming up to you and demanding the performance of a strange religious ritual, like a Hare Krishna at the airport demanding you put on the proffered saffron robe and sandals – the Bagged Hag returned, Diaper extended.
I didn’t tell her we can’t. I told the old bitch – the language is appropriate – no.
We don’t wear the disgusting things.
After all, why would we? We’re both perfectly healthy and aren’t going to pretend we’re afraid of “the virus,” like she does. If the Bagged Hag really did fear “the virus,” she wouldn’t be at the store, Face Bag or no Face Bag. Doubt it? How many people would enter an Ebola ward with just a “mask” on?
Of course not.
“The virus” isn’t even 1 percent Ebola – and most of the Bagged know it isn’t. They just want to pretend it is, for some sick reason.
Including this Bagged Hag – whose extra 50-plus pounds she was carrying around her waist constitute a far greater threat to her health than “the virus,” let alone a pair of healthy people who refuse to pretend they are sick.
She stomped off to find a manager.
We laughed and decided to check out – as another test of this demented pantomime. If our presence truly constituted some sort of threat to public health – as opposed to a threat to the delusion of people out of their minds with fear – then surely they would not risk dealing with my dirty money – cash, handled by my ungloved and unsanitized hands; my un-Bagged face mere inches away, radiating the dreaded ‘Rona.
Would they not make the sign of the cross or some such and back away from us?
The manager arrived – and said nothing. Instead, she checked us out.
But her eyes – all you could see – said a lot. They squinted with impotent rage but she nonetheless rang me up, perhaps because the prospect of losing a $70 sale – books are my crack – over-ran her pretended fear of “the virus.”
Then again, I had touched the books. Unclean! Perhaps they were spoilt goods, no longer permissible to put back on the shelves.
But then, people are constantly touching these books. With their hands.
Why no wiping down of the books handled by the might-be-sick? Probably because the sanitizer would ruin the cover and then the books would be unsaleable.
But why should books be exempt from “precautions”? These same pitiful – and arbitrary – weaponized hypochondriacs will not re-use the cups they used to serve coffee in; it’s all disposable paper cups now.
But apparently, “the virus” doesn’t linger on all those books being touched – egads! – by the same people who are constantly touching their disgusting Face Bags and thereby smearing the sickness they haven’t got on the things.
If you believe in Face Bags, why not gloves, too?
Why, for that matter, is it allowed to touch the books at all? Shouldn’t they be in Bags, too? Isn’t the risk unacceptable? If this truly were about “keeping people safe” – assuming the “sickness” was anything like as contagious and deadly as these weaponized hypochondriacs believe it to be – then there would be consistency.
Instead, there is authority – petty authority, enforced by pathetic little creatures who have tasted power over others for the first time in their pathetic little lives and like it.
Thus, seeing the reaction in their eyes when told no is priceless.
They expect socially pressured obedience and if not that, at least its mewling red-headed stepchild, pleading the exception – i.e., we accept that Face Bags are legitimate but we can’t safely wear them because . . .
To Hell with that.
We don’t wear the goddamned things – and that’s the end of it.
Break the spell – even if the Baggers’ delusion is unshaken. Make it clear who is delusional – and who isn’t tolerating it anymore y pretending it isn’t.
I intend to return to Barnes & Noble when I need some more books – because I much prefer to buy from them than from Amazon and it’s a shame that any bricks and mortar store would assault a paying customer in this manner given how desperately they need paying customers.
But they’ll never Bag me – or her.
. . .
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