On Wednesday I decided to try an experiment. Donning a PPE mask, something I’ve never done before except in a store or some other indoor place where a gaggle of people might be, I went for a little walk.
This was no aimless stroll. I wanted to see how people reacted when all they could see of my face was a pair of eyes, and I wore something that reminded them of the perilous times in which we live.
In fairness, men my age no longer demand the attention of the human eye, and on my head was a Seattle Seahawks cap, reason enough for some to turn away.
I was expecting at least some sort of recognition from fellow mask-wearers
It was, though, like I had donned a cloak of invisibility, because suddenly I simply was not there.
When I tried to make eye contact — with the two young women in the collegiate sweatshirts, the guy in the work clothes, the middle-aged couple perhaps just out for a morning walk, the 20-something man engrossed in a cellphone conversation — none was reciprocated.
A young mom seemed to clutch her baby to her chest as I passed. The eyes of a man I’d known for a long time passed over my face and just kept moving.
A neighbour, checking his phone, didn’t even look up.
I was expecting at least some sort of recognition from fellow mask-wearers, by my estimation about one in five of the people I passed in six blocks of Halifax, in the way that motorcycle drivers greet each other on the road.
To a person, they stared resolutely ahead, as if our masks signaled something shameful.
At the entrance to the Public Gardens, I unhooked mine and flung it in a garbage can.
I may have been imposing a narrative, but, as I retraced my steps, it seemed like I was suddenly transformed: I got a nod from a stranger, who didn’t seem to notice when I passed by as a masked man, moments before; a neighbour stopped a cellphone conversation to say hello.
To a person, they stared resolutely ahead, as if our masks signaled something shameful
Was I imagining things or did I even detect the faint outlines of a smile beneath the mask worn by the older woman pulling her portable shopping cart?
There is no way of knowing, just as there is no way of empirically knowing whether people’s expressions were now lighter as I passed. It sure seemed that way.
I’m bringing this up because of something I found out about the other night: the 10 and 5 rule, which is apparently widely used in the hospitality industry. The rule dictates that when a staff member is 10 feet from a guest, the staffer smiles at them and makes eye contact. When they are within five feet, the staff verbally greets the guest.
It’s all about making your guests feel welcome if you are a big hotel or nursing home chain and your customers feel valued if you are a bank teller or an employee at Disney World. In other words, it is about being kind and nice to people, about showing civility.
My, now unscientifically confirmed, theory is that civility is suffering these days because people are anxious, but mostly because they are wearing those damn masks, which we are told over and over again are the last line of defence against the virus.
It’s mighty hard to tell if someone is smiling or sneering beneath a mask. The person you just passed may have wished you the absolute best in every part of your life; it just came out as incomprehensible as one of Bane’s soliloquies in The Dark Knight Rises.
This is not going to get any easier. The defining image of this period in history may not be Trump on a stage mugging like Mussolini, or an American street aflame in protest. Instead it may be an ordinary person, going about their daily life, while wearing a mask.
Which is why I want to propose finding some way to bring civility back while we still can.
Now my name is not Emily Post; there will be people reading this who will shake their head a couple of times then look back to see if the John DeMont they know is actually giving advice about manners. But, hey, these are unprecedented times.
So, what about doffing the hat, or bowing the head in a respectful manner to those who pass, whether good friend or total stranger. What about, maybe, a lift of the chin, or flash of the eyebrows to the man on the street and woman in the store.
I suppose it doesn’t really matter what the gesture is, whether it is something as eye-catching as a hand over the heart or as subtle as a toss of the head.
The point is to recognize that your orbit and that of another person has briefly intersected, to show a passerby, masked or not, that we are all human beings and every one of us in this together.
