Thoughts from the ammo line

Ammo Grrrll recounts THE HUNT FOR A MODERNA SHOT. She writes:

A few days ago Breitbart ran a story about Hollywood celebrities – all “down for the shtruggle,” as Mrs. Obama would say – all-in for Diversity and against White Privilege, offering clinics bribes for vaccine. No, really. They were offering up to $10,000 to budge the line and get the Commie Flu shots for their entire families, regardless of the risk assessment. Who cares who might be infinitely more vulnerable? Have any of those ugly old people in line ever been on the cover of People Magazine? I thought not.

What an inspiration it was watching our elected representatives of all ages belly up to the bar to get their shots first. Rand Paul, a doctor, a mensch, said, “Nuh, uh, I’ve already had COVID, I’ll pass. Let others go ahead of me.” Tulsi Gabbard agreed, bless her heart.

The article even mentioned the new phenomenon of “vaccination tourism” as some of the frantic celebrities went “state shopping” to see if they could get on a list in another state with more vaccine. Hey, fire up that charter plane or private jet and get the heck to Tuscaloosa or Minot. Those caregivers in nursing homes can wait. Who are they, anyway? People who do some of the worst jobs in the world, involving multiple bodily fluids, because THEIR parents didn’t love them enough to get them into Stanford or USC by donating a football stadium or even by pretending their spoiled, indifferent scholars were on the crew team!

Another story out of Tennessee said seniors waited in a car line for hours for the vaccine at one clinic. Eventually they were told the allotted doses were gone, the doors were locked, and the relatives of the clinic staff were brought in instead. Trotsky and his Merry Band of Marxists weren’t right about very much, but they had that one pegged: in times of scarcity, the ones responsible for the distribution of needed goods will never leave themselves out.

I am a short, chubby geezer woman in the very first levy of the Baby Boomers. Supposedly, women do better than men fighting this evil virus. My Blood Type is plain old vanilla “O-Pos” which is allegedly also a plus. I not only live in sunny Arizona, but I have been taking D3 and Zinc for YEARS – long before I could ever have located Wuhan on a map, or perhaps even located China itself. Geography was always my Achilles Heel in playing Trivial Pursuit. I hear it is quite large. China, not the Trivia game, which is priced at $1.00 at garage sales and has passed into oblivion like all fads.

So when Arizona’s guidelines for who was eligible for the shots dropped from 75-plus to 65-75, famous novelist, Max Cossack was tasked with getting us on a list. He was very busy putting the finishing touches on his fifth novel, which is a real ripping yarn, trust me. I WOULD HAVE offered to take over the task except for two things. One, I am exactly as good at negotiating Websites as the previous paragraph would presage. And two, I have the patience of a wet cat. Max gave it a go. We had numbers for a County Health Office and a random, whimsical Pediatric Clinic near our home. Both numbers had worked for some friends.

Those numbers came from a network of friends, not from some concerted effort by State Government to inform us. It reminded me a little of the black market information network in the former Soviet Union where information would spread like wildfire on which line might net you a pair of shoes which you could then trade for some cabbages going bad.

After dialing several of the known numbers all day, we were eventually told that all slots were filled, please call back in March. I was fine with that, except that I had not seen Daddy for over 15 months. I had been three days away from a scheduled flight to the Twin Cities, when SLAM, BAM, THANK YOU, MA’AM, the whole world shut down in March of 2020 (spit). Soon, of course, I couldn’t have got in to see him even if I had managed to drive to Alexandria with a steamer trunk full of cash for bribes. Not that I have such a trunk, sadly.

My bestie Angela goes to Line Dance. She is young, social and a goer. She also has Card Class, Tap and Drumming. I have Advanced Sitting and Pandemic Eating. Someone in her Line Dance class told her that slots were open in a Latino clinic. I will use pseudonyms lest anyone get in trouble. I was to call, ask for Gwendolyn and request the site in Casa Grande.

More dialing, more odd answering machines giving long numbers, not even names. I gave up after three tries, pretty sure that somebody must have transposed a number or something and Lord knows what entity I had actually reached. When what to my wondering ears should appear but a CALL BACK from, YES! The mythical but very welcome “Gwendolyn.” She said she had captured MY number even though I didn’t leave it – ain’t Big Brother technology grand? – and she had slots available IN TWO DAYS! Max thinks I have super powers!

I pre-registered the insurance numbers, the Medicare numbers, the Driver’s License numbers, and birthdates for Max and me. Evidently Gwendolyn, an extremely sweet person, could also do math. There was a slight pause after the birth dates. She said, “So you are not 75?” I said, “Oh my goodness, I thought we were now doing 65-75 in Arizona.” She said that was true state-wide but in Pinal County, it was still at 75. Pinal is a geezer-rich county. She asked if we had any conditions that would be urgent. “Are you by chance morbidly obese?” “Don’t I wish! But, no, hon, I am mordantly obese at best. Look, we will be 75 next birthday, but are 74 at this moment.” She laughed, and said “close enough,” they had a lot of doses of the Moderna vaccine. She signed us up and that was that. Ammo’s the name; charm is the game. Haha.

Two days later, very early in the morning, we were on the sketchy two-lane road to Casa Grande, our double masks at the ready, all our documents in order. Our appointments were for 8:20 and 8:30, but like all time-related things in Mexican culture, those times were more aspirational than actual. No matter. What Mexicans lack in a white culture obsession with punctuality, they more than make up for in sweetness, compassion, patience, and hard work.

We were shot right in our car! Miss Anna came to the door and shot Max in his left arm. On the passenger side, naturally, my right arm was closest. I turned awkwardly around in my seat for her to have access to the left. She warned I would feel a little pinch. I felt no pain at all from the injection. The site has been a little sore (about a 2 on a scale of 1-10), which I verify every five minutes by pressing on it. Yup, still hurts! Sadly, I kind of strained my neck when I made that pivot in the seat. OF COURSE I did; I’m a geezer. This too shall pass, and we are already booked for our booster in late February. Woohoo! Or perhaps Wu-hoo!

Not 5 minutes ago I read a somewhat depressing article that said the South African COVID mutation ain’t a bit a-skeered of this vaccine. Oh, well. Triple masks will probably do the trick. Or eating at The French Laundry Restaurant. At $350/plate, the virus can’t afford to go there.

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