It was me and the Masked Morons on my daily walk in Manhattan this morning. The sun’s shining brightly, but it was chilly and windy; pedestrians wore sweaters and jackets and the ubiquitous mask. Which means most of their skin was covered rather than absorbing sunlight to manufacture Vitamin D.
Tragically, all the elderly folks I spotted had masked their mouths and noses while big hats shielded their eyes. And yet they consider me a threat, not their lack of sunshine, as two geezers have informed me in as many days.
The first one, an old biddy, yelled at my husband, “Wha’s ya mask?” When he politely replied, “I don’t need one,” she hollered, “I hope ya get sick!” I whirled around and demanded, “Have you done the research? Have you? Because if you had, you’d realize you’re only hurting yourself, breathing in the germs you just exhaled!” She studiously ignored me. I’d like to think she was embarrassed at having broken New York’s tacit contract that we all keep to ourselves and leave everyone alone, but that kind doesn’t shame easily. For good measure, I loudly proclaimed to my husband, “One of the few good aspects of the City was the fact that everyone pretty much minded his own business. But now we’ve got all these busybodies!” Still no response from Old Biddy.
The second confrontation was with an elderly man. I am tiny, not even five feet tall and so slight I wear girls’ sizes. This white-haired octogenarian towered overhead as he demanded from 15 feet away, “Wha’s ya mask?”
I dislike screaming in the street, so I strode toward him as he cried, “Ya oughter be weahing one fa me! Fa me, to p’otect me!”
He never explained why I’d want to protect someone so obnoxious.
I was now near enough to converse, but all 6’2” positively cowered. “Don’t touch me!” he bawled, though I assure you, I had no such intention. Oh, gross. “Lee me alone!”
“You started it!” I couldn’t help but laugh.
Again, I tried to discuss the dangers masks pose, but he was too busy cringing and crying. He bleated about calling the cops on me but shuddered when I offered him my phone. I smiled sweetly as I admonished, “You may want to think twice before tangling again with someone who knows the facts when you don’t.”
Noo Yawkers are repellent under the best of circumstances, but they’re absolutely intolerable now. Ah, Progressives! What a town of fatuous cowards, haters, and snitches you’ve spawned!
Original: LewRockwell- Becky Akers
I had my first [“thermal scan”] today, when I went to my dentist…
the way things started just made me laugh. A masked receptionist handed me a clipboard with a yes/no survey intended to inform whether or not I even might have the bug. I checked it off in about ten seconds (no-no-no…) and put it on the counter. They had me toss the used ballpoint pen into a box (for later incineration?) and one of them (rubber-gloved) slathered disinfectant all over the clipboard. As I failed to stifle my chuckle and eye-roll staffers were, well, sheepish about it.
Then one of them handed me a digital oral thermometer. It took at least two minutes to yield a reading. At one point, I gestured at it like “how long is this @#$%!!! thing gonna take?” When it finally beeped, I told the staff that my similar home thermometer gives a reading in eight seconds. They were kind of embarrassed, although that was not my intention.
At least no one tried to make me wear a mask.
Now, if anybody like the TSA (remember, I don’t fly any more) tries to hand me an oral thermometer, I will do one or more of the following:
1. Demand that they first show me that their temperature is normal.
2. Drop trou and shorts so that I can give them the most accurate possible reading.
3. Tell them “Take your paws off of that thermometer, you damn, dirty ape!”
Original: LewRockwell – Becky Ackers