Mr. Red Sweater

I was recently at my ophthalmologist's to be measured for lens replacement surgery. In the busy waiting room, a flat-screen showed notables being vaccinated against Covid. As close to me as permitted, a middle-aged man in a red sweater sat waiting too, with his mask bunched below his mouth. 

I asked him to please pull it up over his nose. His first comment was, "I see you're one of those people who have been brainwashed", and devolved from there. The pandemic was a hoax, he told me; I was "paranoid", "an idiot", "a sheep". I told him that yes, I may be paranoid (someone who insults you doesn't expect you to agree) and said wearing a mask isn't comfortable, but the sign on the office door notified all who enter that they must wear one, properly. He grudgingly pulled it up; I thanked him.

After a half-hour of tests and measurements with the doctor's staff, I returned to the waiting room where Mr. Red Sweater sat, this time addressing all within earshot in Italian. (The Italian-speaking doctor is popular with patients from that community.)  Three women in at least their late seventies listened as he told them, "Questo vaccino vi ucciderà!" I didn't need any Italian to understand his assertion. He would not meet my eyes.

Finally, I was in front of Dr. D. He said, "First, I want to thank you for telling that guy to pull up his mask." I said, "Oh, so you heard about it?" He said, "Yes, and then he came in here and started on me."

I wish I had suggested to Dr. D. that he ask his receptionist to spot-check and, if she felt uncomfortable with speaking to a patient, to get him in there. I did say, "Eighty-five percent of the patients out there today are over age 70. Because they sit there for a good while, this man could create consequences for them."

I've been around non-compliant, even defiant, persons over the last nine months, and I've always been able to step away, cross the street, wait it out. But Mr. Red Sweater got to me, because he was using a captive audience as an opportunity to spew misinformation.

Later that day, my sister-in-law, Sylvie, called to report on her family's subdued holiday, and mentioned that our niece Josée, a respiratory therapist, holds the hands of dying Covid patients, because loved ones cannot be with them. Though a heartbreaking task, she does not want anyone to die alone. I thought of Jo, so young to bear this burden, and her humanity in the face of exhaustion.

Listening to that account, I wanted one thing: to take Mr. Red Sweater to a dying patient's bed and have him relieve Josée right through to the end. Would he still maintain this disease is a hoax?