Once More, With Feeling

Dearest Rachel –

“This had better be some roller coaster.”

Yeah, the line was that much longer today than the first time. I’m not sure why. To be honest, I thought I’d heard that doses were starting to go begging at this point.

Although, to be fair, it has been quite the roller coaster, this past year… at which point, I shall say no more, lest this devolve into a political rant. I mean, you and I would discuss politics a fair amount from time to time – especially with things going on around us over this past year, it was pretty much unavoidable – and we would even disagree on certain points, but it was always civil, friendly even. I’m well aware that the internet is hardly full of people like you or me, and so I should keep my peace from here on.

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It appears that today was particularly set up for folks like me getting a second dose, in fact. Although there was one line monitor who was calling out those who were walk-ins, telling them they should have a green ‘C’ sticker to indicate who they were.

C? Walkin? Suddenly, I wish I could do impressions.

Though, it’s not like you get a choice of vaccines, especially when it’s your second time through

(You know something, honey? I think I’m being too snarky for my own good today. Although, between my mask and the whole hope of putting all this nonsense behind me, I think I should be allowed a few such moments at this point. At least, those around me seem more amused than annoyed – maybe I’m just expressing the prevailing attitude, after all.)

Anyway, I’m sent on to the next computer station, where I’m asked for my medical paperwork – and I still can’t help myself, as my mind continues to go in very strange places.

Glory to Arstotzka! Greatest country! Mother proud!

Finally, I’m at the bay to receive the dose. The nurses confirm my identity – basically just my name and date of birth – and whether everything has been all right since the first shot.

As always since the accident, I’m briefly stymied as to how to answer, but I consider… since the first shot? Well, I suppose. The worst life had to throw at me was before all this, so…
Anyway, they give me the shot, and this time, I actually feel the needle. Sure, it’s unpleasant, but it’s more what I expected the first time around, so I’ve neither cause nor need to complain.

Now I have to just sit and wait, apparently to demonstrate to the staff that I’m not likely to pass out over the first fifteen minutes. At the same time, they’re busy processing paperwork for me and dozens of other people, so maybe asking us to stick around like this is more for their benefit than mine, exactly.

Overhead as someone was being processed out: “How are you feeling?” “Physically, fine.” Looks like I’m not the only one bringing the snark today, although I’d kind of like to know the dude’s story. Of course, it’s not mine to know – and from that reaction, not necessarily a happy or pleasant one, I suppose.

Anyway, the wait eventually ends, even as I’m typing this sentence. So I go up to receive my paperwork and my card that I’d turned in previously. The nurse asks me for my identification information – once more, just to make sure. And upon handing everything back to me, she finishes with a fairly boilerplate “do you have any other questions?”

And again, I can’t resist. “What’s the capital of North Dakota?” Thank you, Groucho Marx.

“What?”

Well, I didn’t expect that reaction. Maybe I’m muffled by the mask. At least that will be changing, soon, but for now… “Oh, never mind. I wasn’t going there anyway.”

As I’m walking away, it occurs to me that I should’ve asked how just soon I could take this mask off. On the other hand, that might not have been appropriate in a clinical setting, no matter what. Some places are just going to be like this from now on, I suppose.

As I leave the building, I noticed the line outside is completely gone, and the parking lot is, for all intents and purposes, empty. It seems timing is everything, and I could have timed both of my appointments so much better. Oh well.

So, that’s the end of this roller coaster now. Anyway, thank you for riding, and have a wonderful rest of your day at Pfizer’s Great America. Oh wait, I shouldn’t put “America” and “great” in the same sentence anymore: that’s making things political again, isn’t it?

Published by randy@letters-to-rachel.memorial

I am Rachel's husband. Was. I'm still trying to deal with it. I probably always will be.

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