“It is my experience that if we make the effort to listen to people when we meet them … it is then easy to find something to like in practically everyone.” — Bryant H. McGill
Oh stuff it, McGill. Your starry-eyed philosophy would have thrown up its hands in despair if it ever came across a guy I met the other day.
Before we meet that guy, I need to say a few words about Bob, who has turned Marie and me into scofflaws. You see, we often take off Bob’s leash in parks that are posted with those darn signs that read, “Leash Your Dog.” Bob enjoys his leashless romps so much that we just can’t deny the pooch his little pleasures.
But we only do this when we’re on paths that are wide and sparsely frequented. Sometimes Bob meets other off-leash dogs, like the one you see above. Bob takes no guff off the big dogs. I don’t either, as you will discover later in this post.
Bob is a mild-mannered dog who trots along next to us and rarely even looks up at someone coming toward us on the other side. Most people smile when they see Bob.
The hulking, bearded, bemasked guy who met us on the path two days ago didn’t. In fact, when he got within 15 or so feet from Bob, he stopped, backed up in horror, and shouted, “Get that [expletive] dog away from me. Don’t you know that dogs spread the coronavirus!?”
“It’s highly unlikely,” I replied, “Even if he had the virus, which in animals is extremely rare, he would still have to get close enough to lick your nose.” The hulking guy sulked. He was apparently not in the mood to engage in a little banter concerning dog to human transmission of the coronavirus.
But he wasn’t finished yet: “And get that [expletive] dog on a leash. Don’t you know the [expletive] leash laws?” The guy was full of rhetorical questions.
I was a bit taken aback, so I asked Marie to leash up Bob.
I was about ten feet from the guy when I took a step toward him to say something to placate the guy, but I didn’t get a chance. The bearded one backed off like I was an active carrier of the Black Death and screamed, “Get away from me, you old piece of [expletive]!” He apparently thought that terribly clever so he repeated it, “Get away from me, you old piece of [expletive].”
That was a milestone of sorts. I’m 82 years old and that was the first time in my life that someone had called me an old piece of [expletive]. One likes to keep track of these things.
He got the “old” part right, but I think his addition of the phrase, “piece of [expletive],” was a bit overwrought and gratuitous, don’t you?
The scene was so ridiculous that I started to laugh. “Old piece of [expletive] — ha, ha, ha, that’s a good one,” I said, my laughter dripping with sarcasm.
Marie, like my mom and my first sergeant before her, warned me that my wiseacre nature was going to get me into trouble someday. I‘ve never listened to any of them, but this guy might be the trouble that they’ve been predicting.
I’m pretty sure the bearded one would like to have attacked me, but he had already shown he was afraid to get near me and my toxic swarm of coronacooties. That is, the guy’s own paranoia protected me. I wasn’t sorry to see the guy continue on his way down the path.
Here’s what Marie and I talked about as we continued our walk:
- Is the daily drumbeat of virus news for the past three months—worldwide deaths, ten different versions of how you can catch the virus, the danger of comorbidities, and so forth — driving some people over the edge, people whose personalities may already have been susceptible to fear and hysteria? The guy I met in the park is not the only one I’ve seen with unreasoning reactions to the virus. Even in the open air, some walkers detour so far around Marie, Bob, and me that it’s like we have coronavirus bugs that are poised to leap 20 feet and then take a 90-degree turn up their noses.
- Why are so many people wearing masks in the open air? Have they not heard that catching the virus while they’re outside walking in parks and neighborhoods is nigh impossible? I even see people driving their cars alone wearing masks.
- I’ve had a few of these tense encounters over the last few years involving Bob, and I just can’t resist responding like a smartass when some jerk tells me, in that arrogant tone that bullies use, that I need to do what he tells me to do. It just gets my hackles up. I usually laugh in their faces. I may have abandoned my common sense in my old age. Nah, that’s not it. I was born this way. Marie tells me that I’m going to get beat up someday. She’s probably right. I really need to stop setting these guys off. It’s about as smart as taunting a belligerent drunk.
- By the way, have you come across any overreaction similar to the ones I’ve described?
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