By Elizabeth Fenley
They had The Virus, yet they wore their masks with their noses out. That’s like a man wearing his underwear with his penis hanging out. I have no desire to see either noses or penises. With men, the oversight is almost understandable, but we women must set a better example. However, by all means don’t tell people about their noses or men about their penises lest they call you unseemly names.
The people who let themselves into my house with their keys were oblivious to the importance of wearing masks. They slept in my spare bedrooms. Bleaching all the linens every day was exhausting. It was extremely unfair. They didn’t wash their hands properly. I carefully printed out full-color, detailed diagrams from the CDC about proper handwashing and considerately posted them in four languages.
I posted similar instructions about the proper method of covering deadly coughs and sneezes. You see, Hate Has No Home Here. All cultures are welcome—as long as they wash their hands properly, wear masks correctly, and cover their spewing germ droplets.
Since guests refused to follow the appropriate Pandemic Protocols, it was my responsibility to protect myself. I filled every room in my house with two of the large air purifiers guaranteed to scrub the air of all viruses and bacteria. To be extra cautious, I placed ten in my bedroom. I spent hours researching the highest level of Protective Personal Equipment suits doctors and nurses wear when treating Ebola patients. Once I decided upon an acceptable model, I ordered fifteen sets—one for each day and each night of the week, and one to wear while decontaminating the used suits. They were mildly uncomfortable and hot. Sleeping in them required perseverance, but my commitment to my safety was unwavering.
I installed cameras in all the rooms, including the bathrooms, so that I could issue Sanitation Citations for violations and keep a record of their offenses. Do not mistake this monitoring for sordid, prurient voyeurism; while I can stomach the familiar female form because all of our reproductive equipment is neatly tucked away, the sight of those men’s penises was almost too much for me to endure. I had a moment of doubt, a thought of disabling the bathroom cameras, but I reminded myself that eternal vigilance was the price for creating a safe environment through strict adherence to the Pandemic Protocols.
The most difficult part was purchasing and installing the negative pressure decontamination zone between the hallway and my bedroom. The CDC is very possessive of that technology, which seems unfair. Again, I surpassed the obstacles, creating a safe zone to seal the used suit and don a new one before entering my bedroom.
Needless to say, the time, effort, and expense involved became a wearying burden. I was discouraged by the lack of progress my subjects were making, despite my efforts. Based upon an extensive cost-benefit analysis, I determined that the current system was not sustainable.
I undertook a series of appropriate lesser actions, first by providing simple explanations of the importance of observing Pandemic Protocols. I gave them the appropriate amount of time to improve their sanitation. They were thoroughly uncooperative, and that left me with no choice.
I had to kill them.
I fail to see the hullabaloo my actions created. Much ado about something so simple. My motivation was justified for the greater good. The CDC would agree.
I did not require law enforcement assistance. Despite my explanation and meticulous record keeping, the police did not understand the perfect logic of my actions.
This was their failure, not mine.