Scamdemic Nostalgia
The last three-plus years sure were fun, weren’t they? I’ll bet we all have fond memories of the wacky stuff people were doing then. I sure miss those times. Don’t you? Here are some of the happenings from that time that I still remember with great fondness.
Fear and Loathing on the Hiking Trail: In September 2020, I was out hiking on my favorite trail in the nearby Green Mountain National Forest. I hadn’t seen anybody for the first two hours of my hike. But on the return leg, as I got close to trailhead, I came across two young women hiking in the opposite direction. They freaked out, and apologized for not wearing masks. One of them whipped out a mask from a pocket and put it on, but the other didn’t have a mask conveniently at hand, and had to pull up her shirt over her face. Moral: A thin t-shirt can keep you from being killed by a respiratory virus being spread by a healthy fellow human, especially when you are outdoors and miles away from civilization.
Going Postal: Around the same time, one morning I entered the post office (which required masks), and the older guy behind me was so freaked out by my presence that he stayed outside the door, waiting for me to leave the building. Moral: Being in the same room with another healthy human being for even two minutes can be hazardous to your health.
Pickup Lines: Early in the scamdemic, the food co-op where I often shop started instituting those familiar (and totally useless) mitigation strategies: requiring masks, enforcing lower occupancy limits, and making shoppers stand in lines outside (six feet apart) until someone left the store. Rather than deal with these ridiculous rules, I chose to use the equally ridiculous but much less annoying curbside pickup system. That way I could stay in the car without putting on a mask or standing in a long line outside in the cold. Moral: Arbitrary, made-up limits like 20 shoppers at a time or six feet apart keep you from dying.
Standing Room Only: When restaurants opened up (why were they suddenly safe again?), we had to wear a mask while walking to our table or to the toilet, but not while seated. Moral: Wearing a mask for only 1% of the time saves lives. Alternate Moral: The Dreaded Virus only gets you if you’re standing up.
Library of Babble: The library where I volunteer implemented a series of non-sensical rules immediately after the general panic of March 2020. At first, no patrons were allowed in the building, so we would place the books they requested in plastic trash bags outside the building on a cart. Returned books had to be “sanitized” by a volunteer by wiping Lysol on the covers (the pages inside are apparently virus-repellent), and then set aside for three days before they could be returned to the shelves. Then the library started allowing people in the building, but only by appointment and only for 15 minutes at a time, and of course masks were required. Then the library started hosting community events (lectures, music, etc.) again, but you had to be jabbed to enter. During all this time, patrons were not allowed to use the restroom, which is really the only public restroom available in this town (the others are associated with private businesses like shops and restaurants).
(During this time I was the occasional substitute librarian, but I broke the rules by not wearing a mask myself, and not requiring patrons to wear a mask or make an appointment. I also would have allowed patrons to use the restroom, but nobody asked. I’m sure my irresponsible behavior caused megadeaths.)
Eventually most of these requirements were dropped; masks were finally dropped a couple of months ago, but the restroom ban continues. Books are still sanitized, but the quarantine isn’t so long. Moral: Reading books can be hazardous to your health. Alternate Moral: Sure, we wasted a lot of disposable plastic bags and masks, but at least we banned plastic straws. Second Alternate Moral: You can go pee outside behind the building, I guess.
The Stigmata: After the super-safe and extremely effective experimental injections became available, some shops dropped their mask requirements, but only for people who’d taken the injections. That way, the non-compliant would stand out from the crowd, so they could be shamed more easily. Moral: Non-compliance must be made publicly visible.
A Brief Respite: In the summer of 2021, it seemed as if the mask insanity was receding. Our little town organized a community concert where a number of local musicians (including myself) played a variety of music, ranging from spirituals to classical. There was only one audience member wearing a mask – actually a safe and effective bandana. But otherwise, I was greatly encouraged and thought normality was very close. I was wrong, as we’ll see. Moral: The light at the end of the tunnel may be an oncoming train.
Fear of Music: The brief sense of normality in 2021 was replaced in 2022 by the jab insanity. The local summer chamber music concert series, along with other one-time music events in my town, started implementing jab passports: you had to show proof of jabs to enter the building. At the same time, the piano camp I used to attend also started requiring jabs, and still requires them today. Moral: Listening to or playing music in the presence of others is a super-dangerous activity, unless you take a super-safe and extremely effective experimental injection that does not stop transmission or infection.
That’s just a small sample of all the great things that happened over the last three years. I’m sure there’s lots more fun ahead! I can’t wait!