Living in introvert heaven?

Remember when the pandemic began, and self-proclaimed introverts were saying and writing things about how this was like heaven for them?

"Wait, no unnecessary small talk anymore? No one crowding you at the store? And I get to stay home in bed with my books and my booze all day? Best. Pandemic. Ever," they said, stupidly.

I remember this vividly. Because I was one of those people. Sure, the world was experiencing a danger we hadn't seen in a century, but I thought I would thrive. I thought I'd write 15 books. I thought I'd do 500 push-ups an hour. I thought I'd emerge from this like some hybrid of Jack Reacher and James Baldwin.

I underestimated how much I needed, well, people. I mean, of course I need my family and friends. But while I'm not a very social person, I am a very social writer. I do my best work when sitting silently in busy places. Coffee shops. Restaurants. Bars. Nightclubs, even. The din becomes an energy-and-idea-generating white noise, and I didn't realize how irreplaceable it was until it was gone.

Anyway, I'm writing this while sitting on a couch at Alphabet City, a building that houses City of Asylum Bookstore and the restaurant 40 North in Pittsburgh. It is 2 p.m. I am a regular here. I used to spend hours at that bar, eating burgers, nursing Godfathers and making edits to my book. I don't feel as comfortable doing that yet, but working in the bookstore during low-traffic hours comes close enough to replicating that pre-pandemic feeling. I'm out of the house. I'm seeing people. I'm getting stuff done again.

I'm also wearing a mask. The bookstore requires each customer to, but I'm immunocompromised, so I'd do it even without the rule. And because I'm wearing a mask, this means that approximately every 15 minutes, it slides up my face and stabs me in the eyes. And then I adjust it. And then it slides down my face, inches under my nose and thrusts into my mouth, like the top edge of it is French kissing me.

It treats my mouth like we just had a nice second date. Like we got food from a taco truck and then went on a gallery crawl. And then I have to rush to the bathroom to sanitize my hands because I've been manhandling my (possibly contaminated) mask.

These are the good masks too. I bought a box of KN95 masks when omicron hit and the cloth masks were no longer sufficient. After weeks of it fondling my face, I researched and bought some KF94 masks, hoping for a less flirtatious fit. Those were equally lascivious. I'm now in a polyamorous relationship with both of them.

The reason I seem to have so much trouble finding a good fit is simple: my beard. It is big. It's not James Harden big. But it's big enough that I finally qualify as being known as "the guy with the beard."

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Finally is key, because my current beard was an aspiration. I long dreamed of having the sort of juicy and luscious beard that added fullness to my face, contour to my chin and ethos to my character. "Oh," I hoped people would say when I'd entered rooms, "here comes that man with the beard. He has CHARACTER. He probably makes WISE DECISIONS about INVESTMENTS and MEAT. He is SEXY. But not a cheap sexy. No, he's GROWN MAN sexy. He's GOOD WHISKEY sexy." Do I have that now? Maybe!

The obvious solution is to just cut my beard down if I want my masks to fit better. But I shouldn't have to do that. I've already sacrificed so much. We've already sacrificed so much. And I refuse to believe that we can invent an iPhone and an instant grit, but two years into a pandemic, with the world's sharpest minds all collaborating to end it, a high-filtration mask that properly fits a bearded face is just too much to ask.

I don't know what to do. I just know that I can't go back to just working at home. And I can't go back to the ethos-less unbearded life. I've waited decades to be GOOD WHISKEY. I can't be cheap moscato again.

(COMMENT, BELOW)

Previously:
• 04/01/22 We don't need to talk about Kanye. (I do, though.)
• 03/16/22 Am I leaving Spotify? That question is dumb
• 03/10/21 A story about some words I can't say
• 03/01/21 Invisalign at 42. Here's why. (It's about more than teeth.)
• 02/17/21 Meet my dad --- the Grim Reaper's publicist