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Like most people who lived through 2020, I felt my shoulders drop from my earlobes for the first time in months when it was reported that—not one, but TWO COVID vaccines were effective and were going to be approved for emergency use by the FDA. All while case numbers skyrocketed across the globe, and we marched to one grim milestone after another, as more and more people succumbed to a deadly virus that our nation should have been better prepared to combat.
But, there’s no need to review the orange carbuncle on the ass of society’s abysmal response to the pandemic, now is there?
For the first time since we were asked to stay home for two weeks (lolz) to flatten the curve, we saw a glimmer of hope.
Were these vaccines the light at the end of the tunnel?
And was this expression a new COVID-era cliché that would finally replace “during these unprecedented times”? And why did “six feet you fuckin’ fuck” never catch on like I’d hoped?
But we’ve made it 12 months, living through very few highs (spending summer days poolside and on a boat drinking with my bubble before numbers rose again) and the multitudes of staggering lows (yes, Bank of America, I am ordering another 10 bottles of sweet red wine from Drizly this week and no, for the last time, this it isn’t fraudulent activity). So, here’s a compendium of what I said and what I was actually thinking as the vaccine rollout began and we finally saw a way out, after a year of lockdown and over 5200,000 dead.
“I’m sure it will be managed well, or at least better than the USA’s response to the pandemic.”
Wrong.
“I’m sure the process will be streamlined and organized. If I do everything I’m told and register with the state as directed, they will clearly communicate every step of the process, and I will have an appointment in no time.”
How at 38 could I be so naïve?! And how can this process be so confusing?
And whether I sign up through the state or try on my own, there are no appointments available.
So, I literally have to stay up until midnight (did I mention I’m old and am usually in bed by 10?) in hopes that appointments become available, and I can type fast enough to get a timeslot. I’m sorry, are we registering for a life-saving vaccine or trying to get front row tickets to a Bon Jovi concert?
I am a healthy young man. I suppose I can wait a little while longer while others with pre-existing conditions get access first.
Fuck yeah, my doctor says I’m obese. Group 1b, here I come.
(Still impossible to get an appointment, though.)
And am I the asshole? Am I keeping someone’s grandma from getting the vaccine? Should I be letting my educator friends get first access? We have all been through it, but isolating for a year has impacted my mental well-being, and one stupid shot (well, technically two) is the beacon of hope I need to know that all of the quarantine and staying home and celebrating holidays alone was worth it.
So, maybe allow yourself to feel hope, and see if the universe will give you what you’re asking for.
And you know what, it’s not like all those COVID-deniers I know will be lining up to get the vaccine. Who needs to be protected from a hoax?
Oh THAT BITCH. She wanted me to “educate myself” about the demon sperm doctor and told me I should “open my eyes.” Well, when I opened my eyes, I see you on Instagram sharing a picture of you with your vaccination card.
Caption – “Filled with hope. Doing my part.”
I’m SORRY, but you have MAGA tattooed on your ass, actually tried injecting bleach into your ex-boyfriend (and it wasn’t even COVID, it was throat gonorrhea he got from cheating on you with a guy from church), accused healthcare workers of being media puppets and inflating death numbers to get more money for the hospital, and held Thanksgiving and Christmas with your whole family to truly make COVID a family affair.
(Seriously, everyone in her family got it. Some of the old people were even hospitalized. What a weird way to prove you aren’t in a cult – by sacrificing your frailest family members to an orange god.)
So if YOU can be filled with hope (and not your usual bullshit), RYLIN JAEDEN MIKENNA, then I’m not going to feel guilty about getting vaccinated.
Because at least I’m self-aware.
Oh my god. I’m in. There’s an appointment available.
Panic Panic Panic. Do I log in? Wait, I don’t have a log in. Back button. Oh no! Did I just mess it up. No, no, good, there are still appointments available. 9:10? 9:30? Is there a difference? Does it even freakin’ matter?
They say don’t input your insurance information because appointments may fill up in the time it takes you type all that information out. This is insane. Why am I sweating? This shouldn’t be so nerve-wracking. Oh my God, when’s my birthday again?! Should I sign up Babci instead?! Maybe the bottle of wine to mentally prep for this wasn’t a good idea. What if I accidentally misspell my name and they turn me away at the door because my name is Eric Mochnacz, not Erio Mochnaxz.
I have two degrees. This is easy.
Oh god. It’s a Captcha. Why are there so many pictures of tractors? And when they ask you to identify traffic lights, do they mean the lights themselves or also the poles from which they hang? Is that technically a crosswalk or part of the sidewalk. And I clicked all the parking meters. Yo, Skynet, that’s not a parking meter—that’s a mailbox. See the red flag on its side? Fine, I’ll say it’s a parking meter. Are we sure the robots are smart enough to take over the world?
Whew. What a sense of relief. Cases are going down. I’m sure the country will stay the course. We just need to wait a little longer, keep wearing masks, and it’s all going to be okay. It took a year, but there’s a light at the end of the tunnel.
Oh, what’s this? Texas is lifting their mask mandate, while saying individuals need to listen to science to influence individual behavior… Because that approach worked so well at the beginning of this?!
Sometimes the light at the end of the tunnel is the oncoming train.
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