The Great Un-masking

I’ve gone through several generations of face masks during the on-again, off-again Covid pandemic. The first was a skimpy little thing that I’m sure any microbe could have breached.

Realizing my risk of exposure, and the prospect of an early death, I graduated to a much sturdier mask that survived the Thomas Fire of 2018. Although robust, it plugged my nostrils and put a permanent fog on my eyeglasses. It was so tight that I felt like that alien character in Men in Black whose head shrunk six sizes when Will Smith blasted him with his laser gun.

Like all new emergencies, proper masks were in short supply. A cottage industry sprang up overnight offering homemade face coverings constructed of leftover bedsheets and old tee shirts. Despite Jackie’s penchant of tossing away anything that isn’t nailed down, I still have a few of those masks that had interesting designs but offered little protection from the clever Covid-19 virus that morphed as needed.

Fortunately, the behemoths of the medical supply industry leaped into the breach when they quickly realized that the prospect of falling down dead was a reasonable incentive that forced even the most resistant crazies to wear masks.

Soon we could find any style and color face mask on the Amazon website. I regularly stared at the offerings and wondered which ones would do a good job of repelling the little nasties, while letting me get through the day without the pain inflicted by the over-tight ear straps.

I became a face mask junkie. My favorite color was black; I thought I looked sexy and mysterious. I tried white and maroon, but they didn’t seem to do anything for my macho image. 

Masks that were labeled Amazon’s Choice or Best Seller often were losers. Like I thought someday my head would get smaller, or my ears would develop armor plating, I refused to junk the useless masks. I stowed them in a kitchen drawer; of course, Jackie found them and deposited them in E.J. Harrison’s green trash bin.

Masks found their way into my car and never left. The container on the driver-side door overflowed with them. It was as though I expected to live in the car and was afraid that I might run out of them. Occasionally, Jackie would say, “Do you really need all those masks? You already have two hanging from your steering wheel.” Embarrassed for a nanosecond, I would take a few to their final resting place in the Harrison bin.

I sneered at people who wore thin, useless bandanas. Usually, these were ill-fitting handkerchiefs that had never been washed. I’m sure it was the users’ way of turning up their noses at the whole idea of a mask. I’m sure they snickered under the snotty face covering, fully aware that the rest of us wanted to rip it off their face, to show our disdain for their disdain.

After two years, I thought I had the mask thing figured out. Right color, comfortable fit, and good protection. And then the Omicron variant arrived with the speed of light. Dr. Fauci and his foxy sidekick, Dr. Walensky, after watching related episodes of Gray’s Anatomy and General Hospital, quickly concluded that sturdier masks were needed. Enter the N95 and KN95 mask, which had been languishing in dark places.

Back in front of the Amazon screen, I searched for the new holy grail. The selection of N95’s was limited…no maroon. I bought twenty black ones and they arrived the next day. They comfortably cupped my face like my mother did…for a while. Then they didn’t. Particularly offensive was the elastic strap pulled taut around my right ear. Like a tight shoe, I removed the mask when no one was watching. I tried wearing the mask with only the left ear strap, not a good idea. I googled “painful ear straps” and got several references to the Spanish Inquisition.

The Omicron variant seemed happy infecting people while leaving them relatively unscathed. Even the unvaccinated stopped dying in droves. Drs. Fauci and Walensky had enough. They began making noises about junking masks even though Mississippi, and other 19^th century mask-burning states, were still filling up hospital beds. Governor Newsom, reluctant to bring another recall election down on his head, decided to loosen up.

We are now into the third day of the great un-masking. Signs that used to say Masks Required for Entry are being replaced with signs saying Masks Required for the Unvaccinated. This afternoon I walked past the new normal and into the bank. Tellers were masked, I was not. I felt weird showing my bare face, and I almost put the mask back on.

I’m much sexier that way.