Quarantine has had its impacts on us all, and it goes without saying that journalists have been the most affected. Being unable to visit my fellow truth preachers at the prestigious office has made my life unfathomably difficult. When the opportunity to rejoin my fellow journalists in the outside world presented itself, I accepted without hesitation.
Some fellow journalists and I decided to go and do some exploratory, investigative journalism. Recently we had heard terrifying rumours that people had been attending pubs and similar social institutions without donning life saving masks. This was our calling. Social justice awaited, and who better to deliver righteous judgement on ignorant, death dealing bigots than approved journalists.
None of us had ever gone to a pub before so this was a new, daunting experience. Initially we waited in a line to enter. To our horror, we spotted an old white male chatting with friends. He wasn’t wearing a mask. My anger was swelling, my desire to unleash justice was about to explore. Against my better judgement I confronted the bigot and tried my best to educate him. Unfortunately he didn’t take to being rightfully called a fascist kindly and he shouted at me. Violently shaking and literally on the verge of tears, my comrades had to rescue me from the situation and console me by playing an Amy Schumer comedy video.
With my nerves calmed, we entered the building. I was stunned. Never before had I seen so many white people. Everywhere I looked was middle aged white men chatting (no doubt spouting racist rhetoric), playing darts (sports promote toxic masculinity), and eyeing up the few female customers (sexist eye contact at its finest). Seeking safety in this dangerous environment, we managed to secure a table towards the back of the room. If these bigots ever discovered we were actually journalists then I feared that we wouldn’t leave this place alive.
None of us wanted to speak to the old white man at the bar and order drinks. We didn’t want to be exposed to his hate speech and intolerance. As the bravest of our band I made the jump into this perilous situation and nervously approached the bar. My plan was to order 5 avocado soyshakes. Oh how wrong I had assumed. The bartender laughed evilly and said “we don’t sell that poncy sh*t here.” My heart and jaw dropped. It was fight or flight. The whole toxic, white, cis-heteronormative, straight, male environment had become too much for me and in a fit of righteous rage I fled the building and made my way home to my cry closet. As a modern day Spartan, I realised that I truly am at war, war with hateful institutions of wrong thought like pubs.
I call upon all comrades to take up your signs and protest outside your local pub. Only together can we put a stop to these gathering spots for the regular fascists and save our communities. Praise journalism!
Written and Edited by: Neville Perciville Croft.