A Social Contract

“Yes, I know. That is why I’m here today, to get a few more things stocked up because this is the last time I will come into this store unless they change their idea of how to deal with this dilemma, (this world-wide, orchestrated panic, she thought but didn’t include). I refuse to wear a mask.”

“Oh, but you know, you could have it right now and not know it and infect someone.”

“Have what?”

“You know, the virus.”

“What virus?”

“Oh!” he exclaimed as if to say, You’re one of those kinds of fools. “We’re done here, if that’s what you think.”

She went on to try a little harder, “Regardless of whether you believe in germ theory or not, they have not done anything that could determine if this, whatever it is, is a novel thing. They can’t be claiming it exists if they haven’t proven that it does.”

Some people just can’t get out of their own fog. Some people simply won’t. 

Safety blankies. Pacifiers. Religions. Cults. Especially now, Scientism.

Personal fears they want to impose on everyone else. 

Some brains go through washers.

But who was she to say. She might just be wrong herself. She would leave him with a smile — the one wearing what looked like thermal undies to cover his mouth and nose and hang down long enough to cover his neck. He could see her smile. She wouldn’t be able to tell if he smiled back because he was also wearing sunglasses. “Nothing could possibly get through that open weave if it was even there and wanted to try,” she thought sarcastically.

Dear humans: face masks don’t work; the study-review was published by your very own CDC

She was about one of five or six that she crossed while traversing the aisles, (sometimes going the right way, sometimes going the wrong way — whatever she wanted to get away with), among the calculated numbers — that weren’t wearing a mask. Who are they to tell her what to do? Aren’t they allowed to stay open because they are essential. Do they not need her business? Isn’t it essential that she be allowed to shop?

It was Sunday — the fake edict would start on Monday but all the cows were following the one with the bell already — good little behavers. 

“What do you think they are trying to do?” he asked her,  “Kill everyone?”

“Not sure about that, (even though she had her suspicions but it wan’t the only or main thing), but I am sure they are trying to establish a techno-tyranny. They want us all as robots.”

He nodded his head in agreement. “That’s true,” he said.

“Well, you can always shop online,” the underwear-wearing gent said.

“Yeah, no, I’m doing my best not to play any of their games.” She wondered if she was going to have to die over this dilemma. She would think about that tomorrow — maybe. For now, she would go back home and try to do a better job of figuring out how to grow food in a desert — or of a better way to distribute food among the non-believers — the food the non-believers are growing themselves.

If you can’t beat ’em’, certainly don’t join ’em’ — start something new. Defeat the status quo. Voting doesn’t help. City counsels are fully rigged with believers.

It was odd being just about the only one without a mask on. She could feel knives in her back coming soon. It’s a social contract, putting on a mask. It says you surrender. It says you agree. It says you comply. It says you’re a fool or a cow or a robot. It says you haven’t done your homework, you’re lazy, you want things easy. It says you have a need to fit in —

You don’t trust yourself to do what’s right.

Dogs roll over and expose their vulnerable parts when the big dog barks.

“Poor little doggies.”

Image by Omni Matryx from Pixabay