Wear your damn mask

Warning: white, privileged, female whining here.

I miss freedom. Moving about, shopping without anxiety. Shopping without resenting the few fellow shoppers who refuse to wear masks. Shopping without feeling like I’m in a war zone.

I went to the Dollar General. Wore my mask, had a goal, and was half-way to accomplishing what I was there for. More on that later. Anyway, a customer came in and I heard the cashier tell her she needed to have a mask on. I heard her say, “I’m claustrophobic.” She mispronounced it, but not so much so that you couldn’t tell what she was saying. The clerk argued with her and she just kept walking, repeating herself–toward me.

The point of a mask is to keep the wearer from breathing and spraying droplets on innocent bystanders. At least that’s my understanding. “Claustrophobic” is a word that offers many opportunities for spitting. Try it–you’ll see. And yet, the woman insisted on repeatedly announcing to no one in particular that she was indeed claustrophobic. It was distressing!

I said, “Then get a plastic shield!” as she passed by me at a distance less than six feet. “Yes ma’am,” she said on her journey.

Those are the kind of adventures I’m having in these days of the Plague. It’s enough to make me happy to stay home.

Except for this: I miss the kids.

Five years ago I became Nana. I had my daughter when I was 37 and she had her first–a boy–when she was 39. You don’t have to be a math genius to realize I was already old when he was born, nor a psychologist to know how excited I was about being a grandmother. Two years later I got another one, a girl this time, and I was over the moon. I’ve probably already told you all that. Sorry.

Anyway, every day was a gift.

Little did I know they were numbered.

Now, it’s been over a hundred days since I’ve been in their physical presence. Since I’ve felt their soft little arms wrapped around my neck, since I’ve squeezed them. To a lesser degree, but still important, since I’ve been able to help my daughter by picking them up at school, lifting them into their car seats, buckling them in, and bringing them home with me so we can have a play date and she can have a break.

This isolation is for my sake, mine and my husband’s, not theirs. They could be carriers. Their daddy is a first responder and they go to nursery school with about nine or ten other little ones whose parents are essential workers.  So, now we have video chats, Zoom calls, and my daughter is great with photos and videos. But still.

So, I went to Dollar General to buy them something. A diversion. I knew that at least for a little bit of time, they would be excited, and that made me smile.

And that’s where I met that claustrophobic woman. If I was in charge, her ass would be in jail.

She better not have made me sick.