Almost Normal

 As we were walking up to the door of U.S. Egg in downtown Scottsdale this morning, for our weekly breakfast meeting with Ginger's folks, I realized that I had my mask in the car.

For a brief second I stopped in my stride, and thought of turning around to get one, but at that moment I made a split decision---I would not wear a mask going inside the restaurant.

I knew there would be no consequence. For months running, the wearing of masks by patrons as they came in the door were escorted to their table had seemed like a ludicrous theater. More significantly, for months running, the man at the front podium, whom I always took to be the owner or the manager due to his age, had not been wearing a mask although his waitresses had worn them. He had been wearing a bandana around his neck, as if ready to pull it up if necessary, but I never saw him wearing it over his mouth. Seeing him there week after week felt like a ray of hope in the madness.

Two weeks ago things stared changing in this part of Arizona. I walked over to the neighborhood grocery, A.J.'s, which is part of the extended complex in which our apartment complex is located. For nearly a year there has been a sign on the door indicating that face covering were mandatory for entry.

Now there was a new sign on the door of A.J.s. Face covering were recommended. On that day I had brought my fabric mask (one of the colorful ones that Ginger's mother had made for us in the crafts center  of their over-55 RV park). I decided that at least on this last time I would wear it, only because I wanted to be an observer and not attract any attention. 

Now, at the breakfast place in Scottsdale, I was ready to go the full mile. I did not turn around and go back to the car. I walked in the front door with a big smile on my wife. The manager-man was not there but one of the waitress-hostesses greeted us---without a face covering. We exchanged greetings as if there were nothing out of the ordinary. We told her we would find the table with the rest of our party, and as we walked through the restaurant, the tables mostly full, I saw that about half the staff were wearing mask. 

We found Ginger's folks outside on the patio. I was warm with the feeling of the normalcy of it all.

Writing this, I know that there are plenty of people who would say something the lines of "I hope you get COVID because of this!" I know this because I have read comments like this on places like the Phoenix subreddit, which dominated by the Leftist Mask Slaves opening rooting for an uptick in local cases to prove they are correct.

"You are putting us all in danger!" they should. But their replies indicate to me that they are willing to see me dead to prove they are right. That' s how much they care about me. So I give their opinions no consideration. They scream at me to take their health into consideration while wishing me death. How lovely.

Breakfast this morning felt like liberation. Ginger and I celebrated by going for a long Sunday drive, up through Crazy Far North Scottsdale as we call it (the city limits extend absurdly northward), into the saguaro-laden hills on the backroads all the way to Bartlett Reservoir, which neither of us had ever visited.

We parked at the marina store and went inside, just our of curiosity. It barely occurred to me to bring a mask, and inside we found the old woman at the counter smiling maskless back at us.

"I almost wish I liked boating," I said to Ginger. "I love the culture of these kinds of places."

Epilogue: later that day Ginger went to Costco by herself and got angrily screamed at because she set foot inside the store while in the process of putting on her mask and showing her membership card. Big corporations are going to be the last redoubt of mask tyranny. But our side is on the march.