Casual COVID Conversation

Maia, my favorite barista, had prepared an iced Masala Chi Latte which I planned to enjoy as I settled on the outside patio of our local Plum Market. The social distanced table and chair set up minimized the amount of conversation and interaction with anyone who sought the same isolation. It was all going well when my view of the eastbound and westbound traffic on Plymouth road was obstructed by an individual whose shorts, flip flops and tank top captured the 90 plus degree temperature of that mid-morning. I assumed he, also, wanted to take in the view the flowing traffic, after all why would he obstruct my view? Content just to continue reading the book on my tablet, my spider sense started tingling and I realized he turned around toward me, waited a beat and said, 

“I see you’re wearing a mask.”

I nodded and wondered why the forces of the universe would send someone to point that out to me. While I was tempted to retort, “And I see that you are not wearing a mask.” I assumed he already knew that he wasn't.

“What do you think about having to wear one?” he asked

In that moment, I recalled the years of learning how when someone is asking you what you think about something, they really aren’t interested in your opinion, but really want you to ask their opinion about a question they just asked you.  It’s an interesting conversational valley that can be a steep climb out once you’ve been pushed in.

Instead, I just pointed to the mask, hoping that its presence would say all that was needed to be said.

“I don’t wear one,” he continued. “I know it’s all part of a conspiracy and I refuse to be told what to do.”

I nodded and continued reading my tablet.

“You want to know why I know that?”

I knew I was right on the edge of the valley about to be pushed down the slope. Remembering how my late mother taught me to be respectful and courteous to people, even when it’s difficult, I replied, “I think the fact that you are not wearing a mask tells me everything I need to know about what you know.”

Undaunted, he pressed on. “This COVID-19 crap is just a game to hide something bigger.”

“150,000 COVID related deaths is a pretty extreme strategy for a game, don’t you think.”

“Collateral damage,” he replied

“Like sea turtles or baby seals being caught in plastic.” I said. He paused and I took the moment. “I don’t throw trash in the water or litter the highway because I know, without having to see it, that it will have a negative impact. Since I care a lot about scenery, I don’t need a ‘Don’t Litter’ law to tell me not to litter. I get it. The ‘Don’t Litter’ law is for those who don’t get it.”

“So, you’re being told what to do,” he remarked.

“I’m being reminded that I am one of 6 billion people hanging out on this rock and that seemingly inconsequential events, do have a long-term impact.” By offering an opinion, I knew I was dancing along the edge of the valley and needed to be mindful of my next steps.

“Giving in means giving up. We do that and we are sheep waiting to be shorn.”

I could feel my toes leaning toward the incline to the valley. Is the ‘Giving In’ reference less conversational than the ‘Giving Up’ reference? Which was the steeper valley?

“I chose to be mindful that I am one of many and not just one of one.”

“You are, exactly, where the game has led you. You’re giving in because they want you to think about others at the expense of your personal beliefs.” As he continued on, his voice was muffled by the sound of several trucks rolling by headed to the construction project taking place on Plymouth Road. He completed his thought just as the last truck rolled by.

Taking that as a cue from the universe, I excused myself from the conversation, thanked him for the talk, wished him a good day and started my walk back home. 

“Just keep in mind what I said,” he yelled as I followed the descending sidewalk past the corner CVS.

“I certainly will,” I muttered.