In the only episode of Black Mirror that I ever watched (“Nosedive “), everyone can rate their interactions with everyone else on a scale of one to five, using an ocular implant that shows them a screen in their field of vision. Citizens’ jobs, housing opportunities, and so forth all depend directly on their composite rating. Of course this episode portrayed a dystopia, and I have no wish to live there. But this week, for the first time, I found myself wishing I could give strangers “five stars” from a distance, just to boost their morale. You know, what the old-timers used to call a compliment, but without the human interaction that makes it weird.

I guess this post will have to do. So, if you were at Silverwood amusement park in mid-June, know that I gave you five stars.

First, to all the beautiful young ladies in bikinis, short jean shorts, and summer dresses. You are lovely. Five stars.

Then, to all the deeply tanned grannies and the middle-aged ladies wearing racerback swimsuits. To the slender elderly ladies in linen pants and hiking shoes, and to the tough-looking older woman with the very short haircut. I want to be you. Five stars.

To the, possibly Mennonite, girls doing the park in long braids and even longer jean skirts, I love your outfits. I love your outfit, woman with a blue polka dot tiered skirt that echoed the shape of your short, pink-tipped ringlets. Five stars.

Now, about hair. I award five stars to all the ladies wearing intricate braids, hippy braids, or beachy buns. Five stars to the lady with the glossy black curls up in a high bun, and to the girl with touseled, Molly-Ringwald style short bob. Skinny girl with amazing natural hair who looks like Zendaya — five stars to you for keeping your hair in that condition. Redheads, young and old, I love your color. I love your hair, chubby American Indian kid with a true-black ponytail so long you can sit on it. Sikh family, your daughter’s forehead bun is awesome. Five stars.

People with tattoos, two stars. Some of you look cool.

Hairy guy with the nipple piercings … um, three stars. Ouch.

I love you, grandpa with the huge smile riding the scooter. Family applying sunscreen to your developmentally delayed adult son, five stars. He is adorable, because you are taking such good care of him. Five stars to your sweet-faced baby passed out in your arms, and to your excited baby with the very expressive feet. And even five stars to the baby who had HAD ENOUGH on the train ride. I hope you got cooled down or whatever you needed.

Five stars to your curly-headed toddler, and to your toddler in a life vest holding your hand. Five stars to the adorable couple where he was big and freckled, and she was slight, sweet, tanned, and Asian. And to the couple where he was big and dark and had dred locs, and she was short and pale and ginger. Five stars to the pregnant woman in a swim suit who looked like the Mona Lisa.

Five stars to mothers and daughters who look exactly alike, especially those who walk through the park holding hands. Five stars to the cool, bespectacled brunette who sold us tickets to the barbeque tent. And five stars to the tanned and muscled guy with his baby on his shoulders, who was dancing to the classic rock played over the speaker system.

And let’s not forget the beards. The guy with the white, squared-off, excuse-me-miss-my-eyes-are-up-here beard gets five stars. So does the guy who looks like he got up that morning as a starved mountain man, took a bath, and put on a T-shirt and some Bermuda shorts.

That ought to do it.