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The hygiene dictatorship: an episode from life in dystopia

How quality time is stolen from us.

An all-pervasive depression has cast a dark shadow over the minds of the people in this country. Their faces are covered with masks, but even when they are not, they usually lack a smile or even a laugh. Everything, really everything, has changed.

A rift runs through society. One looks at each other suspiciously. Those who do not consider COVID-19 to be much more dangerous than the flu and therefore do not take the mask compulsion so seriously consider the “Corona Informers” to be brainwashed fools. These in turn see ruthless egoists in the others who endanger the health of their fellow human beings, and even their lives. Aggressive arguments, which often lead to assault, are therefore the order of the day. Everyone knows that this crack can only be repaired with difficulty.

In the meantime, even everyday affairs are capable of leaving a frightening impression on the experiencer of living in a surreal dream world from which there is no waking up.

An episode from life in dystopia

The pensioner Walter Marshall, needs a new passport because the old one has expired. After all, Mr. Marshall is a citizen of Canada, and he believes in this nation, at least in its version from the last century. In the meantime, what is currently going on in Canada’s hygiene dictatorship seems no less crazy to the pensioner than the imagination of Canadian citizens.

The times when you could go to the passport office spontaneously, draw a number and get your turn after a more or less long wait are over. In the Corona dictatorship you have to reserve an appointment on the Internet. Waiting time: two and a half months. If the old passport or identity card has expired in the meantime, you can no longer register a motor vehicle, take out a loan and no longer travel, to name just the most important restrictions.

Now the big day has come. The pensioner stands in front of the passport office, along with a handful of other citizens, most of them with face masks. Everyone has to present their concerns over an intercom. General information: Please wait, the clerk will pick you when it is your turn.

It will not be pleasant for those poor devils who have to go to office in the dead of winter, thinks Marshall. But well, the schoolchildren in the classrooms that are ventilated into ice cellars have to endure that too. What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger. And if you get pneumonia in the freezing cold, you no longer need to fear Corona.

Now some mask wearers, whose concerns have been dealt with, leave the office and a bunch, consisting of five new citizens, is admitted into the official building. Security is right behind the door, evidently staff with an “immigration background.” You are politely but firmly asked to disinfect your hands. Then you go to the waiting area. Only one of three chairs may be occupied at a time.

Since Walter Marshall has a medical certificate due to health problems that exempts him from the mask requirement, he allows himself the freedom to pull down the scraps of cloth under his nose. As a rule, despite his liberation, he wears a mask and prefers to suffer than constantly justifying himself and arguing with one of the numerous block attendants in the ranks of the “Corona Police”. An employee of the security patrol is in the waiting area. He too obviously has an immigrant background. Are there no more indigenous Canadians in the security companies? As soon as Marshall has pulled the mask under his nose, the harsh request comes: “Please put the mask over your nose too!”

Marshall thinks about it for a moment, but then hesitates to use the medical certificate to reveal his medical history to the security employee. So put the mask back on your nose and suffer.

Finally the clerk comes, of course with a mask on her face. First she complained to one of the waiting applicants, a man with – you might have guessed it – a man with an African background, who came about an hour late for his appointment. African punctuality. Marshall, on the other hand, was there in good time, but the clerk takes the African first. Then finally it is our autochthonous supplicant’s turn. In the office, a large pane of glass separates the clerk from the applicants. Nonetheless, she still wears her mask as she stares at her screen and taps on the keyboard, ten feet and a pane of glass from the pensioner.

Marshall takes heart: “I have a medical exemption from the mask requirement. Do you mind if I take off the mouthguard? ” The clerk’s head jerks around like a tarantula. Despite the large scraps of cloth, the pensioner thinks he sees the expression of panic on the clerk’s face. “No, you have to wear it, that’s the rule,” is the clear and false statement from the employees, an obvious “Corona Police.”

Marshall refrains from informing her about the legal situation, after all he wants his request to be dealt with quickly and smoothly. At some point he finally leaves the building. His first official act: Take off your mask. He’s already dreading the day he has to go there again to receive his new ID. At the same time, most national health agencies, including Dr. Tam of Canada, are of the opinion that a face mask would still be needed if a vaccine was available.

Theft of quality time by the hygiene dictatorship

Walter Marshall is a critical citizen who also gets information outside of the mainstream media. It has long been clear to him that this is no longer about illness, but rather about putting citizens in a state of fear. This makes it easier to keep them under control until the imminent restructuring of the economic, financial and social system is complete.

Marshall knows it could take years. He also knows that at his age the time in which he is still active and can fully participate in life and enjoy this life to the full is limited.

He doesn’t know how much of this “quality time” he has left. All he knows is that the hygiene dictatorship has just stolen it from him.

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