F#*king Weirdo!

This week, we traveled to Southern California for a memorial service celebrating the long life of Lindsay’s grandmother. Yesterday, we flew back to Detroit. At the Orange County airport, we strapped on our masks - and goggles. Because at this point, planes are basically rave parties for viruses. While we waited to board our flight, two different white dudes, two minutes apart, walked by and took photos of us. The second guy smirked at me, and ten feet away, snapped a couple selfies with me in the background. 

When I walked towards him, he picked up the pace. He was hiding behind his woman, who was holding a swaddled baby. I walked alongside them, socially distanced. I asked him why he was taking photos of me. He hit the mute button. – so I kept asking. Finally, he said it was a public place and he could do whatever the f#*k he wanted. Then Karen yelled, “Get away from me and my child, you f#*king weirdo!” 

Honestly, I don’t know if I did the right thing. I used to think that I was being a bigger person by “not sweating the small stuff.” Not anymore. Inaction enables and emboldens behavior and logic that make America unsafe for a lot of people. More than ever, I feel the need to assert myself. Indeed, we were in a public place. A crowded place with climbing rates of covid, rsv and flu. Karen, Craig and the kid were mask-free. But apparently, I was the f#*king weirdo.