Mask hysteria is easing in Portsmouth, but don't tell the BLM bitter-clingers

Portsmouth New Hampshire is about as liberal a city as you’ll find east of Seattle, and the mask mandate came early and is staying late, at least locally: the state dropped the rule weeks ago, probably in recognition that most people had already stopped obeying it, but the city itself says it’s keeping it’s local ordinance in force until June 30, “unless extended”.

But a people’s veto has occurred, and it seems as though 90% of the formerly coerced have stuffed their masks in their pockets and are daring to cheat death again. However, there remains a hard core of science deniers, almost certainly drawn exclusively from the BLM crowd, and boy, are they ANGWYYY!

Masked, aging hippy chicks in their 60s can still be seen pedaling their fat-tired, ecologically sustainable bicycles along the Memorial Bridge – a mile-long span across the Piscataqua River — while in the otherwise empty bicycle lane; no one around them for 1,000 yards. I can’t see behind their masks, but I’m certain they’re scowling, even on beautiful sunny days like today.

I can shrug my shoulders at these pathetic nuts because it’s none of my business, and if they want to be unhappy and fearful, it’s their misfortune, and none of my own. But I’ve noticed that as mask compliance plummets, the people for whom obedience to authority gives meaning to their lives are growing increasingly hostile, and it’s not unusual now to receive angry looks from these people when we pass on the sidewalk. My happy indifference to their troubles is souring, and my tolerance for their intolerance is ebbing.

This afternoon I noticed a couple pulling into a parking space as I was returning to my own car. I approached them with the intention of offering them my own soon-to-be-vacant space, which still had an hour on the meter (worth two bucks). I got only as far as asking, “are you …” when the husband in the passenger seat started yelling: “Back away! Back away!” The wife, whose window was down, joined his panic and started yelling too: “Yes! Yes! Get away! Go!”, shooing me back with one hand while fumblingly trying to don her useless paper mask with the other.

So why should I care? If I’m lucky, I’ll never see these crazy people again unless they show up as supporters at the next Trump rally, and that seems unlikely. On the other hand, I regret the loss of common social civility: one stranger doing a tiny favor for another. It’s what used to make small-town living so attractive and, if these weirdos will only return from whence they crawled, that good life can be restored.

Otherwise, we’re in for tough times.