As I sashayed around my bedroom transitioning for a New Year’s Eve night out with some friends that I hadn’t seen since the start of the pandemic – socially distanced Zoom calls aside – a thought-nugget began to crystalize in my big brain: I was owed an apology from my “friends.” For judging me about the so-called ‘mean’ things I justifiably said and did during the pandemic – I deserve, nay, demand amnesty. And what better time is there to sweep everything under the rug without reflecting on one’s actions and learning from them than New Year’s Eve. 

I would usually rush to Twitter to share such deep and insightful truth-bombs, but since Elon Mengele took control of the platform now I just write them in my dream journal. I began to scribble down my deeply poetic thoughts, soothed by my violent pen strokes, to the scent of Dr. Fauci love candles melting away on my desk, and the constant low drone of my 4 HEPA air purifiers slaving away in the background.

I inspected my work, written in an inspirational frenzy. It was just one line, slashed across the pages over and over again: “ALL PANDEMIC AND NO AMNESTY MAKES DOREEN A DULL THEY/THEM.”

With the negative energy exercised out of my system and my chakras balanced, I did one final check to make sure I was ready for a night on the town. N-95 masks? Check. Government issued Vaccine passport? Check. Portable Seatbelt? Check. Even though I’m septuple times jabbed and had tested negative multiple times that evening, my nerves were still on edge. I now know exactly how the brave female BIPOC soldiers on D-Day felt. And all they had to contend with was systemic sexism, racism and a bit of machine gun fire. But I was going outside, DURING THE MIDDLE OF A PANDEMIC!

Stunning and Brave

I stood at the bottom of the stairs of my parentx basement, my foot precariously hovering over the first step. Memories of the past three years surged through my massive wrinkle-strong-brain. Yes, I had snubbed the anti-vaxxers and called for them to be; fired, imprisoned and even executed –  but it was all for the Greater Good. I had done nothing wrong, but some of the folx I was meeting up with tonight had been part of that Qrowd, and there was a slim chance they had taken it all the wrong way. That’s a curve that would need to be flattened.

I began my terrifying ascent. A shaft of light slicing its way through a crack in the door hit my germ free pale skin. My oily flesh sizzled in protest at being exposed to sunlight, and a burning sensation rippled through my boosted body. I hissed in pain, and shielded myself from the harsh beam of solar radiation by wrapping my Batman cape around me.

It was an emotionally, mentally and physically exhausting climb up the subterranean  stairs (LITERALLY WORSE THAN MT. EVEREST). At the summit I was accosted by my female identifying birthing persxn and chud brother Kyle. They were both shocked beyond even their limited vocabulary to see me emerge from the relative safety of my concrete cocoon. Based on the extremely invasive and unwanted “hug” (ASSAULT!) they must have assumed I had given up my noble pursuit of Covid Zero. Clearly they had failed to notice the three masks tightly strapped to my face. I wasn’t suffocating to death for their sake. Obviously.

With an unmistakable smirk on his maskless chud face, Kyle rudely offered to drive me into town. Clearly he was mocking me. I took delight in wiping the smug smile off his face by informing him that there was no need as I had already selected an Uber driver – a fully vaccinated* and COVID safe one, with only three strikes of violent sexual misconduct. “I would feel safer with xem,” I delivered the emotional coup-de-grace, and enjoyed watching his crestfallen face crumble.

It’s for your safety

I marched past them into the living room and unrolled a sheet of plastic, laying it out over the sofaI was going to sit on whilst waiting for my Uber. As the seconds ticked by, I began to get cold feet (possibly from my gout). My so-called friends had chosen as our venue a sexist ‘Ladies pay no cover’ nightclub that had defied lockdown rules and mandates during the height of the pandemic. And to top it all off the place only has GENDERED BATHROOMS!! What is this? 2018?!! This went very much against my reasonable demands (vaccine passports required for entry, socially distanced seating areas clearly defined by markings on the floor, app-only ordering for food and drinks), but xey informed me that all the other nightclubs in the area had gone bankrupt for some inexplicable reason.

Waiting Suddenly

What if xey don’t apologize to me for forcing me into self-imposed exile? My self-sacrifice must not go unnoticed. As open minded as I am, my friends are extremely far-right. Don’t let their degrees in Gender Studies, Just Stop Oil protests and pink hair fool you. As the deadly pandemic has raged on over the last three years they barely took any COVID precautions. 

Tarquin only wore one mask at a time when volunteering at the food bank. Osbourne-Spencer Maxwell-Silverspoon III organized an outdoor birthday party for his little sister during lockdown. Moonbeam stopped getting boosters after her third heart attack. The only reason I can even bring myself to hang out with anti-mask, anti-lockdown, anti-vax trash like this is because I’m extremely humble and forgiving. Magnanimous, even. Saintly.

My boomer gammon Dxd hovered around our racist and no fair trade coffee table in a desperate attempt to “bond” and “catch up” (read: brainwash and radicalize). He clutched a baseball glove in one hand and a pigskin in the other, his teary eyes sparkling with misplaced hope. His presumptuous actions forced me to retreat into the inner sanctum of my ‘Mind Palace.’ There, I began to imagine a fantasy where instead of attending a nightclub with my boring hateful friends I would be basking in the warm bosom and holy decadence of our elite, benevolent overlords at one of their Eyes Wide Shut parties. I have attempted to reconstruct this utopian vision below in screenplay form.