It felt like her head was buried deep in a polyester pillow that had been sliced open, synthetic guts bursting out, suffocating her. Her breath just stayed there, suspended inside the N95, heating up her lips and the tip of her nose. Sweat formed, but she couldn’t wipe it away, or take tissue to it. And the more her blood pumped, even if just by a degree, the more hot and uncomfortable it got. She tried to move slowly.
She looked like an idiot. But this was the new normal.
It was her now biweekly trip to her favorite Target store, and things were definitely getting weirder. Everyone was now wearing masks. Some had homemade cloth masks, others had thin cotton masks; she was lucky enough to have one of the coveted N95 masks. This was the one that was impossible to find, for the public and especially for health care providers. Civilians were told not to purchase these, in order to ensure those on the front lines could get what little supply was left.
Lucky for her, she had two cats that shit.
A lot.
And peed.
And cat pee reeks of ammonia to the point of making the sniffers of said pee, vomit.
Her husband insisted on an official mask to use while he cleaned it. It started out as a joke, and he only wore it a few times, but now, now it seemed so fortunate. They had purchased a two-pack, and now they were prepared. When she remembered the funny masks and then went searching for them she felt like Rick or Michone, searching a burned out, empty building searching for supplies in the zombie apocalypse. And there they were in that one junk cabinet that every household has- that cabinet with all the random things that a house needs, but doesn’t fit into the category of “kitchen” or “bathroom” or “bedroom.” Like scotch tape and cat shears.
She had time now to organize that junk cabinet, she probably should.
As she moved through the Twilight Zone version of her Target, she could faintly smell that cabinet, and had wished she had stored it somewhere fruitier, sweeter.
There was an upside to the mask thing. People couldn't see the faces she made at them. And she could whisper to herself inside the cloth cave about people, make comments that no one could hear but herself. She tried not to be rude or mean, but people did weird shit at stores. And their kids did weird shit too. God she was such a bitch! But she couldn’t help it.
The worst downside of the mask, besides the physical pinching and sweatiness, was the fact that her hand-held internet machine couldn’t recognize her face. She had her device set up for “facial recognition” which meant all it had to do was “see” her face and it would unlock. Passwords were so five years ago. This posed a problem with the mask. She had to keep typing in that stupid password to get it unlocked- her shopping list was in the device and she had to be careful not to forget anything. This was important.
When she removed the mask it was a glorious moment, like being underwater for too long and finally getting a swallow of fresh air-even though it was just the stale air of her car cabin. She looked at her face. She could see red marks, and she wiped off the sweat. It had only been thirty minutes.
How did these workers do it? What kind of superhuman species were capable of such a feat? Working 12 hour shifts? Never taking the mask off? Huffing and puffing inside of it while saving lives while risking their and their families own health?
These people deserved a fucking medal. She wanted statues erected to them in every state, for all to see. She wanted them to have all their loans zeroed out. Pay them a million fucking dollars a year. Fucking heroes.
Heroes.
She hated her N95, but she also now saw it as her new savior, the one little, soft barrier that she now had from the infected. She took it and tucked it away until she was forced to go outside, once again.
She looked like an idiot. But this was the new normal.
It was her now biweekly trip to her favorite Target store, and things were definitely getting weirder. Everyone was now wearing masks. Some had homemade cloth masks, others had thin cotton masks; she was lucky enough to have one of the coveted N95 masks. This was the one that was impossible to find, for the public and especially for health care providers. Civilians were told not to purchase these, in order to ensure those on the front lines could get what little supply was left.
Lucky for her, she had two cats that shit.
A lot.
And peed.
And cat pee reeks of ammonia to the point of making the sniffers of said pee, vomit.
Her husband insisted on an official mask to use while he cleaned it. It started out as a joke, and he only wore it a few times, but now, now it seemed so fortunate. They had purchased a two-pack, and now they were prepared. When she remembered the funny masks and then went searching for them she felt like Rick or Michone, searching a burned out, empty building searching for supplies in the zombie apocalypse. And there they were in that one junk cabinet that every household has- that cabinet with all the random things that a house needs, but doesn’t fit into the category of “kitchen” or “bathroom” or “bedroom.” Like scotch tape and cat shears.
She had time now to organize that junk cabinet, she probably should.
As she moved through the Twilight Zone version of her Target, she could faintly smell that cabinet, and had wished she had stored it somewhere fruitier, sweeter.
There was an upside to the mask thing. People couldn't see the faces she made at them. And she could whisper to herself inside the cloth cave about people, make comments that no one could hear but herself. She tried not to be rude or mean, but people did weird shit at stores. And their kids did weird shit too. God she was such a bitch! But she couldn’t help it.
The worst downside of the mask, besides the physical pinching and sweatiness, was the fact that her hand-held internet machine couldn’t recognize her face. She had her device set up for “facial recognition” which meant all it had to do was “see” her face and it would unlock. Passwords were so five years ago. This posed a problem with the mask. She had to keep typing in that stupid password to get it unlocked- her shopping list was in the device and she had to be careful not to forget anything. This was important.
When she removed the mask it was a glorious moment, like being underwater for too long and finally getting a swallow of fresh air-even though it was just the stale air of her car cabin. She looked at her face. She could see red marks, and she wiped off the sweat. It had only been thirty minutes.
How did these workers do it? What kind of superhuman species were capable of such a feat? Working 12 hour shifts? Never taking the mask off? Huffing and puffing inside of it while saving lives while risking their and their families own health?
These people deserved a fucking medal. She wanted statues erected to them in every state, for all to see. She wanted them to have all their loans zeroed out. Pay them a million fucking dollars a year. Fucking heroes.
Heroes.
She hated her N95, but she also now saw it as her new savior, the one little, soft barrier that she now had from the infected. She took it and tucked it away until she was forced to go outside, once again.
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