I pull up in my red sedan. From the outside, things look like they always have.
It’s a beautiful autumn day in Southern Ontario, about the same as most places you’d find in the Midwest.
But, as soon as I limp through the double doors of one of the busier Starbucks in Toronto, Canada, I find I’m in the Mecca of Clownword.
Plastered for the world to see, like it’s the artist of an installation you’re viewing, is a laminated poster asserting the necessity of facial masks.
This madness I’ve grown accustomed to the past eighteen months.
Another poster; this demanding proof of vaccination should you wish to remain inside while drinking your drink.
Ridiculous? You bet your ass.
I walk to the counter. A handsome barista in a fisherman’s toque and Fidel Castro eyeglasses greets me.
He’s pleasant when he takes my order; a Grande Pike topped off with steamed almond milk. I pay him in cash; I do my best to avoid digital currency as long as humanly possible.
After tendering payment, he asks if I plan on sticking around.
I get a sudden urge to tell him to get bent, but I catch myself and realize the barista isn’t my enemy amidst this battle.
He’s a paper pusher, a compliant foot soldier making a measly fifteen bucks an hour serving caffeine-addicted Canadians crack in a plastic cup.
To see how absurd this political narrative has gotten, I reach into my back pocket and hand over my driver’s license.
Then, I pull up a photo on my cell phone proving I have, in fact, been double-vaccinated.
The Somali hipster scrutinizes both like a Doberman Pinscher before finally nodding his head in approval.
I am not in a coffee shop. I am crossing a border into a foreign land.
A female barista with blue streaks hands me my drink. Before I find a seat, she reminds me to keep my mask on.
‘Yes, Mein Fuhrer.”
I scope the inside of the shop. I see socially distanced tables with patrons dawning masks in between sipping drinks.
‘F this,’ the voice inside my head utters. I quickly make my way for the exit.
A simple act like buying coffee has become complex.
The most disturbing aspect about the above scenario; one can pinpoint what a human being has chosen to do with his/her God-Given body simply by walking into a coffee shop.
A private matter is now public domain. The new normal, they keep telling us.
The Vaxxport is a tattoo, a bat signal that says ‘Hey, I’ve done this to my body, I am compliant’.
Sporting events, musical concerts, watching a movie on the big screen; activities that were so common place two years ago, are now anything but.
Time and time again, those in power pit humans against humans. Today it’s a virus. Soon, who knows?
Free thought is a relic. Individual agency no longer exists.
Brace yourselves my fellow Patriots. The 2020’s are destined to be a wild ride.
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