Today I drove my family to Macarthur Square, one of the largest shopping centers in the southern hemisphere, located in Australia, New South Wales.
For the good of public health, us pure bloods donned our flimsy blue surgical face masks.
While my wife visited the Priceline pharmacy, I took Lincoln to the Oliver Brown coffee shop outside the automatic doors. There were no confrontations there.
Being an unvaccinated adult in a covid-19 vaccine mandate world, you quickly learn how to communicate to effectively avoid the taboo vaccination status subject.
I ordered a strawberry milkshake for Lincoln, as well as a large cappuccino for myself.
“Can I have that as takeaway, thanks,” I asked.
Lincoln roamed off with his plastic vehicles and ladybug car, eager to play. I followed him to the tables Oliver Brown had placed outdoors. When Lincoln sat his vehicles on the table to play, I looked around at others seated down on tables in Leaf coffee opposite us.
“I feel like a criminal if we play on this table. We can’t sit down here. We don’t have a vaccine certificate,” I was made to feel ashamed.
The Banished Pure Bloods
That sense of banishment hardened my attitude. With the drinks collected, I traipsed through the mall with my face mask down, valiantly drinking coffee. Macarthur Square was crowded, for a weekend.
We came to a towering Christmas tree opposite the entrance to Coles supermarket.
“Look at the Christmas tree! Go touch the balls,” I encouraged Lincoln.
He grabbed the Christmas tree decorations, and pointed up to the star on top of the Christmas tree. He loves stars.
I followed Lincoln to the balcony outside of the Mad Mex restaurant. The shop displayed all the standard government-provided vaccine certificate signage. Outside on a corner table owned by Mad Mex were two females enjoying a conversation.
I felt bitter looking at these people, knowing that they probably showed their vaccine passports and complied with this corrupt, communist social credit system in order to sit down.
No Vaccine Mandates For Floor Duties
Moving back into the throng of people down the main hall in Macarthur Square, Lincoln ran forward, abruptly launching the milkshake onto the floor.
“Oh wait there. Daddy has to clean it up,” I didn’t fret.
I came to the adjacent coffee shop to borrow tissues.
A nice, middle-aged lady stood in front of the spill.
“I’m going to stand here and guard it,” she said.
“Really? Thank you.”
As I was walking over to the drink to clean it up off the floor, one woman walked away from the coffee shop and almost put her foot into the milkshake.
“Oh no, no, no, watch out,” I exclaimed with urgency.
The woman looked down and noticed she was about to slip. She had thongs on. That would have been a nasty fall.
I spent two minutes cleaning the floor with a block of tissues, chatting casually with the female.
When I finished, she grinned, “You gave me a good show.”
Lincoln buzzed back over towards me. I put whatever was left of his milkshake in the bin. Then we continued down the hall together. He was a handful, running between stalls, hiding, falling on his back, pointing inquisitively to the Christmas decorations on the shopping center roof.
Showing Covid-19 Vaccine Passports In Best & Less
Soon, we caught back up with Ria. She enthusiastically showed me the eye shadow makeup she purchased from Priceline.
As we neared Best & Less, she drew my attention to the hustle and bustle at the bargain basin bins out the front of their retail outlet.
She quizzed, “I wonder if we can get in there?”
“We probably can, but they might ask us for our covid-19 vaccine passports once we try to pay. But we can try anyway.”
Reluctantly, I took Ria and Lincoln to the entrance, where covid-19 vaccine certificate signage was prominently displayed on rope bollards.
Once we passed the entrance bollards, a female staff member inside popped forward.
“Did you sign in?”
I felt like we were kettled into Best & Less by being asked to sign in first.
Ria got back in the line with four people, got out her phone and scanned the QR code to sign in.
While Ria signed in, I walked into the store with Lincoln running playfully around me.
Another young, female staff member walked up to me.
“Hi. Could you show your vaccine passports?”
In a normal retail scenario before the coronavirus pandemic began, the type of behavior from this pushy saleswoman would have been to follow me around the store ensuring I made a purchase. Not today.
I grumbled in a low growl, “No, I don’t do that.”
As expected, she began her canned line, “I’m sorry, but we can’t let you into the store without a vaccine passport.”
I grumbled once more, “Yeah, I know, right? It’s discrimination.”
I didn’t care. I just smirked to myself.
While her head was bowed, not looking directly at me, I walked out of Best & Less to join back up with Ria.
Ria looked slightly embarrassed, but she knows the drill now. Once a business discriminates against us for being unvaccinated against covid-19, and denies us entry into their premises, she walks off together with me, knowing never to return again.
Best & Less is just another corporation medically discriminating against healthy, covid-19-virus-free Australian people in Australia.
The Covid-19 Vaccination Pro-Choice Novelty Store
Rather, a few steps up the hall, Ria spotted a small-business novelty store.
“We can go in there. I don’t think we need to show any vaccine certificates for that store,” she sounded optimistic.
I casually mentioned, “Yeah, let’s go in there and have a look.”
The novelty store had a wall display of Christmas decorations and one aisle full of toys. Lincoln liked the glass balls with snowflakes inside.
“Oh, look at that,” Lincoln pointed.
As we wandered through the variety store, the only service staff member was a lone Asian girl behind the service counter. She hardly had time to hunt us down and demand our covid-19 vaccine certificates.
Nonetheless, deep in my mind, I remained in suspense at the minute likelihood that she could still embarrass us pure bloods if we decided to purchase something.
When I spotted a ceramic toy in the shape of a red bus no bigger than my three fingers, I knew Lincoln would love it. It only cost $1 dollar.
While Lincoln was walking through the aisles with Ria, I approached the Asian shopkeeper in the Superman shirt. Lincoln loves superheroes.
“Oh, look, there is Superman over there,” I told him.
I nervously handed one dollar over to the shopkeeper.
“Oh, that’s nice,” Ria noticed the ceramic toy.
Then I gave the toy to Lincoln.
“Do you like it?”
He nodded.
The shopkeeper leaned down towards Lincoln, who was looking at her Superman shirt. We all interacted and had fun.
This store had a completely different vibe to what we received from Best & Less. Best & Less just looked at us, knew that we didn’t have vaccine passports, then shunned us, and told us we can’t be served.
That’s embarrassing for Best & Less that they choose to discriminate.
Ria too was content that we were able to do our retail shopping. The other day, she shared how she felt depressed. Normally, retail shopping is her outlet to make herself feel better. Since the covid-19 vaccine mandates have forced our exclusion from society, she has been unable to relieve her stress.
The novelty store was a nice little validation win for Ria.
Diary Of A Mad Chaos is a daily diary written from March 1996 until today, of which individual books and book series have been created, namely “The Lost Years” an exploration of young, entwined love, the “Wubao In China (猎艳奇缘)” book series which provides an extensive comparative analysis of the cultural differences between Eastern and Western societies, and the book titled “Foreigner (华人)” an exploration of race relations in Australia.
