It seems to me that there are two types of people in the world: the type who clean the treadmill after they use it and the type who spray it down before they step on it.
I like to clean off my perspiration and the germs from my expressed heavy breathing that will have settled on the machine. (Does that sound disgusting? Nature is messy) When I’m done running, I go and find the spray bottle of disinfectant and some paper towels just a few steps away and spritz the machines so that they’re lovely and fresh for the next person.
Other people give the machine a clean before they get on, because you never know what the person before has done: if it’s someone like me then it’s fine; otherwise, well, you just don’t know where they’ve been do you, and you can’t be too careful. To my regret there is a logic to this view, especially in these times of coronavirus pandemic fear. Now, I don’t wish to second-guess this second kind of person, but I would hope that they’re public-spirited enough to clean before AND after they’ve run. If not, that’s just rude but some people are simply barbarians. I’ve been struck by the amount of people in every gym I’ve ever used who consider this simple act of courtesy too much of a burden for their troubled souls.
I’m reminded of this by the current episode of universal mask-wearing in Hong Kong. For those of you unfamiliar with East Asia, it is a normal act of courtesy to wear a face mask when you have a cold. It isolates airborne germs and viruses (in theory) and lets everyone know that you need extra space. It also gives people with lowered immunity or for whom it’s simply inconvenient to deal with a cold right now (they have a flight, or a newborn baby in the house, or they’re just about to sing in a concert or do a music exam) a warning sign so that they can discreetly keep a safe distance from the belurgied one, tactfully and without showing fear or disgust on their own face. In parts of the world where people live at such close proximity to each other, this silent social signalling becomes an important act of thoughtfulness.
I’m a huge fan of masks. Having had months and years of expensive vocal therapy and singing lessons to regain a voice lost when I caught the flu from a fellow choir member, I’m a bit paranoid about this happening again and I certainly would not wish to inflict it on anyone else. When I returned from the UK in late November with a horrid virus, (not THAT one) I had to go into a HKBC rehearsal despite feeling rotten because the concert was looming. I sat apart from everyone else wearing my face mask, and everyone knew what was going on without me having to explain. I’d like to promote mask-wearing in London, though I know it’s raising my head above a parapet of mob compliance. Perhaps the global spread of the Covid-19 virus will ease the face mask into European culture too.
Now, I know what the scientists say: that a face mask cannot and does not offer protection from this virus or any other. Good personal hygiene and washing your hands with soap at every opportunity – alcohol-based sanitiser is good if there’s no alternative – is a much better way of defending yourself. This might sound slightly defensive from an arts graduate but there is more to life than science. Science still hasn’t got all of the answers to everything and people are non-binary.
We here in Hong Kong are perfectly well aware that wearing a mask everywhere in a public place will not in itself keep us safe from the coronavirus. It is, however, an important gesture of consideration and shows that we are giving some thought to keeping the people safe with whom we share our space. Those who still refuse to wear masks despite the grim entreaties in public spaces, on transport and in offices – sadly mainly those of European descent of origin it would seem – come over as arrogant and dickish, high-handed about the welfare of others. It is an example of European exceptionalism in a place where the more open and mindful people are perfectly conscious of their white privilege.
Shops sold out of masks pretty quickly here and, although surgical masks of varying quality and provenance are now widely available on the Island and in Kowloon, I imagine, they’re still hard to come by here in Discovery Bay (DB). In desperation I ordered a load of Pitta Masks on Amazon only to find when they arrived from various sources that they aren’t protective at all in any way. They just look quite cool, having been adopted as the go-to attire of the anti-government protestors last year.
I was lucky enough to order the last two masks from a Swedish company called Airinum before they, too, sold out. This sort of mask is washable rather than disposable, with replaceable filters, which also ran out of stock. Overnight on Wednesday I received an email that a limited amount – with a quota – would be available the following day to people on the waiting list. I’d be notified by email when they were in stock and I could order them. Well, having waited all day on Thursday, I finally received the notification email as I left the restaurant after a rare night out, and I spent half an hour on my phone in the middle of Causeway Bay grappling with an overloaded and doolally website that kept reverting to Cantonese on my phone. Luckily I did secure my quota in the end, and about 12 filters are on their way to me.
Wearing a mask can be problematic. My phone unlocks with facial recognition, so I keep having to type in my passcode – #FWP, I know – and several apps including my wallet app require me to unmask myself to use them. Of course you can’t eat while wearing a mask so restaurants are fairly empty now and I don’t wear mine in the gym either.
It plays havoc with your lewk, wearing a surgical mask everywhere. I won’t treat you to a picture of the inside of my current filter and its foundation and lipstick stains. The mask pushes up the skin under my eyes and deepens my wrinkles there and makes my glasses steam up. I’ve discovered the lack of tenacity of my new mascara in extreme conditions of steam and humidity. Eyes take on even more importance when the rest of your face is not visible, a phenomenon well-known to those who cover their face for cultural reasons – and I’m taking the opportunity to emphasise my liquid eyeliner look. (Is that cultural appropriation?)
Perhaps I should let Airinum know that our masks are universally admired as “cool” and despite goodness knows what’s going on underneath them, all looks well from the outside. Which is kind of the point, really.