Ms. Half-Face

I went to the LCBO today at 7:55 because of the line at the Beer Store across the street. It reminded me of the idiot lines at Duffy's Tavern back in the 1970s.

Duffy's was a very popular bar on King Street, north side between Hughson and John.

On weekends it was always filled to capacity. In those days "capacity" was based on fire safety, not some exaggerated invisible threat.

Duffy's had devised a clever method of line control.

They had two lines.

The first line was out on the street. A bouncer would stand at the door to control access. I must admit, I was fooled by this more than once. There was always a group of us and once we got the green light from the doorman we were thrilled to have finally gained access to the tavern, only to discover ANOTHER line.

This was rather clever. If a patron saw a line that was too long, he or she might have been deterred from waiting, but by the time you got to the second line, you had already invested your time.

This second line went down a stairway into the actual bar area. Another bouncer stood down there.

The bouncers were always rude. I've seen it many times. Give someone a little bit of authority and they will milk it to the mask, I mean max.

So one night, when two of my buddies and I were allowed to enter the street door, the bouncer barked, "get over there and stand against the wall."

Something clicked in me. I turned to my friends and said, "Wait a minute! We are supposed to be customers here. They are treating us like inmates in a concentration camp. Are you guys willing to put up with that?"

For once, I had some consensus. We all turned around and walked out.

One of the guys was an unruly drinker. On our way out, he ripped some kind of poster off of the wall. I thought it was a valid statement.

Fast forward to today. I was third or fourth in line at the Beer Store. I've really had it up to the eyeballs with this sci-fi drama we have all been forced to be extras in. I noticed there was no lineup at the LCBO across the street and I still had five minutes before it closed, so I got in my car and went there. Muscle memory.

I picked up my six and on my way to the cash, I noticed HER.

Sidenote: I have noticed, after 15 months of this clown show, that I have adapted somewhat in my ability to recognize faces. It's kind of like how you unconsciously learn to lip-read when your hearing deteriorates.

I am beginning to be able to recognize half-faces.

And there I was, at the LCBO, and I recognized THAT half-face. If I had seen her at Walmart or Freshco, I might not have noticed, unless she started following me around to see whether the stuff I was putting in my cart was "essential."

But this was the LCBO and I had already become acquainted with the half-face lady in that context.

She was the one who sheepdogged me back to the little square cut-out in the plexiglass where payment is supposed to be done. (Aarff! Baaah!) Because my hearing ain't so good anymore, I always walk past the radiation shield to hear better. Not wishing to be denied access to the essential booze I was buying, I let her bully me, but I couldn't resist commenting, "It's like we're all just extras in a sci-fi movie," to which she replied, "Well, some of those extras aren't getting it. I raised my eyebrows and said, "Is that right?"

The next time I bumped into Ms. Half-Face was about two weeks ago. I was careful to stand in front of the square cut-out for this flaming neurotic, again, out of fear of losing access to essentials.

The transaction went smoothly but I noticed she was STILL agitated. As it turned out, the lady behind me in the commie queue had walked past THE SIGN! The fact that there was still a good ten feet separating us made no difference to Ms. Half-Face. She barked at the hapless extra for not following the choreography. "You have to stand at the sign!!!"

That wasn't the end of it. Ms. Half-Face marched away from her cash register to deliver a stern lecture to the poor sheepling about the critical importance of saving lives via mindless conformity.

I think the scamdemic has nudged us all into a new form of non-verbal communication and half-face recognition because when I went back to the LCBO this evening, I noticed her looking at me with those narrowed eyes. "I've got my eye on you, you recalcitrant white supremacist," I imagined her thinking.

Thankfully, she wasn't the cashier I got. Mine was actually pleasant. I asked her if these plexiglass shields might be available for sale, at bargain-basement prices, once this insanity ended and she replied, "I don't think it ever will end."

I agreed with her, saying, more or less, "They have a whole warehouse full of emergencies at the ready, not least of which is the bogus climate emergency, that will give the control freaks and opportunists an excuse to impose this travesty from now until doomsday.

She agreed.

Then I noticed that Ms. Half-Face was glaring at us both.

It didn't take me long to figure out why.

I had moved beyond the radiation shield to conduct my business.

I hope I didn't get the sane lady in any trouble.

As I think about it now, I am starting to visualize a scenario where, on a future visit to that LCBO, I might have my essentials in hand and I will be able to tell Ms. Half-Face to go and fuck herself.

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