Member-only story
As I returned to work this February morning, I reached into the right pocket of my jeans.
On one positive note from the pandemic because, after all, we should take them where we find them, the City Manager at the municipality where I have worked since spring of 2005 amended our dress code soon after it began.
Sure, when a developer, potential new business, and/or elected official comes to meet with us, we are still expected to dress appropriately. But after wearing slacks, button-down shirts, ties, and sportscoats for most of my twenty-seven years of gainful employment, I now head off to work most days clad in jeans, casual shoes, and nice but not too nice shirts.
A definite byproduct of the pandemic, when I reached into my jeans pockets and then my jacket pockets before heading out the door today, I found an abundance of used surgical facemasks.
Used is a relative word, but it generally means that whatever product it is, is not brand new. Whether it is a book that you have read, a DVD that you have watched, or something that you wore only once or twice, it is still a used item.
All told, I had twenty, yes twenty, used masks in my various pockets. Some appeared to be as good as new, possibly worn for ten or twenty minutes, while others were both crumpled and faded, looking as if I had worn them for days on end.
