On the way
to Kyomu Supa to buy granola and cashews, I stopped at a traditional
confectionery shop. I had no intention
of purchasing anything, but I’d spied the alcohol pump near the door, and I
wanted to spray my hands down. Six steps
into the place, one of the clerks approached me apologetically with a
temperature gun. I bent my head down so
she could check me. Thirty-seven
degrees. “Okay, please continue
shopping.” Is that what we’re doing
now? I was more amused than upset. Had my temperature been high, would they have
thrown me out?
June 10,
2020
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