There was never a doubt in my mind that I’d get the vaccine. I had no hesitation like my mother who feared it would make her sick like the time she got the flu shot. Different virus, different vaccine. Or my sister who feared the historical systemic racism within the medical community against Black people. Times have changed. Now they’re being racist by making it harder for Black people to get the vaccine, not fucking with the vaccine itself. Or the conspiracy theory that Bill Gates put microchips in the vaccines. Billionaires don’t need to chip us to track us. They do that through our phones and as a back up, our social media accounts.
With the first vaccination provider I pre-registered with, they warned me several times that I wasn’t actually making an appointment because they needed to check out my “status” to see if I qualified to make an appointment. My only qualification was being 50. Next, I got an email, which I forgot about, stating that I could make an appointment. By the time I got around to clicking on it around 6 PM, I discovered that I was number 1100 and something in the digital line. When my “number” came up, I’d have ten minutes to make an appointment. I said, fuck this, logged out and tried again the next morning.
That was the wrong move. There weren’t anymore appointments available for the week. I tried again the following Monday. No appointments. Try again next Monday, the message read. Then I learned that I somehow missed out on a batch of appointments because I was waiting for Monday.
In the course of a textchain with my creativity group about COVID vaccinations, I shared my experience with them. One took pity on me and texted a link for yet another place where I could preregister. I preregistered at the second place. Days passed and no word. Perhaps on some magical Monday, which never seems to come.
In the meantime, when I did the weekly check-in with Mom, she told me about getting her second vaccine shot. No bad side effects at all, just like the first shot. I learned a gem of fact when I asked her at which facility she’d received her shots. She described the place as where people watch sports and then they serve some drinks and food…
“Wait, you were vaccinated at a sports bar?!”
“Well, they’re not open for business. Just for vaccinations right now.”
I didn’t care. Previously, I’d wanted to get my shot at a veterinarian place, but now that seems too tame. If my 80 year old mother was vaccinated at a sports bar, then I want to be vaccinated at a strip club. Most people waste their time longing to choose which vaccine they’re going to get. Not me. I want to choose the place. I want such a racy place that my COVID vaccine story tops everyone else’s.
I’m not taking unnecessary risks, so the only thing that’ll spice up my COVID quarantine war story is where I get my shot. I’m not even in the mood to dress in costume when I receive it. So unlike me. About half my closet is costumes yet I’m not even planning a vaccination costume for this occasion. Perhaps once I confirm an appointment and location, I’ll be inspired.