Old Men
On jabs, dried rivers, and the fucking audacity.
A man cuts in front of me in the line for a Covid vaccine. Myself and others have been filling out our consent forms, or waivers, or whatever they’re fucking called. They’re all spread on a fold-out table with some pens scattered from an overturned cup that once said “Clean” on the side. You go down the checklist and you go “No, no, no, no, no.” No you are are not allergic to any vaccines that you know of. No you are not allergic to eggs. Do not resuscitate in case of emergency; I do not want to be here longer than I have to. You know, the normal stuff. So when this man, this old man who was behind me in the line for the secretary to find out where the vaccines were, just grabs his papers and runs for the line before me, I have a moment. It’s the exact same thing when someone cuts you off right at the mouth of the drive-thru. They have to get their Beyond Whopper first. He has to get his jab before me. We do not have a good time in line.
It is 10:30am on a Monday, so maybe I shouldn’t be so surprised at being the youngest person here by thirty years. I am youth in a sea of old—even though my knees creak, I scowl at teenagers, and my one gray hair has a friend. I am still (God, maybe) young. Young-ish. Young enough for all these old geezers to scowl at me as if I were a teenager. The line is long, maybe twenty whole people. We all slowly inch toward a converted conference room. You would think Kaiser Permanente would have some kind of state of the art facility for public vaccinations by now, but three years in and we are still cramming into small yellow rooms with makeshift dividers and K-Mart art.
“Next!”
The calls from overworked nurses filter out the propped doors. Light at the end of the tunnel: a middle-aged woman in scrubs. We continue on, cattle lining up to the slaughter house, pawns into the bowels of the machine, something else conservatives say.
I’m glaring at the man who cut in line. Cut in front of me. There are rules for a reason. This man didn’t even fill out his consent waiver do not resuscitate form. I’m texting a friend like crazy, giving her live updates on this cretin and theorizing what his intentions are. “He must be planning to make one of the nurses go through the forms with him. So like a man!” I say, as if for the first twenty-six years of my life I myself did not identify as a man. The nerve of these old guys, though. Expecting the nurses to help when they could have taken three minutes to read the directions. They are like giant, helpless babies. I hate babies.
Another old man offends my field of vision. He walks up to the front of the line and looks back down the way he came, this pissed look on his face.
“Is this the line for the flu shot or the Covid?” he asks the masses. I am reminded of old filmed stories like The Twilight Zone or The Time Machine, often starring an enlightened free man yelling at a crowd of sheeple to wake up and free themselves. There’s Rod Taylor shouting at the Eloi. William Shatner screaming at airline passengers. “Can’t you see, you fools?!” I want him to drop to his knees to complete the effect, but I’m worried he’d break his knees. There’s a chance my creaky knees would break if I did the same thing.
But then I also remember the secretary clearly stating: “Fill out these forms at that table and then go stand in line right over there. They will give you both your flu shot and your Covid vaccine.” And then I realize maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if this man broke his own knees.
Sometimes if I stare at the back of someone’s head long enough, I like to think they can sense my distaste for them creeping behind. There are wrinkles in the back of his neck, like dried rivers. He’s not turning around. My friend texts me: “Try to remember that a good chunk of them have led poisoning from just existing in the 60’s.” This doesn’t alleviate the weight in my heart, my seething distaste for this man. For all these men. We’re entering the doors.
“Sir. Sir? I can help you right here, sir,” a nurse says. He rushes off, head down. Maybe he’s known this whole time what an ass he was.
“Can I see your papers?”
“What?” it’s the first thing I’ve heard him say. I try to eavesdrop further, but I am called away with a: “I can take ya right here, hon.”
Leap into action. Put on the big fake gay smile.
“Hiii!”
“Mhmm. Let me see your papers.”
It’s over fairly quick. I apologize too many times about how I didn’t know I’d be getting these shots today and if I had known I would’ve worn shorter sleeves. My nurse shrugs.
“Come on...” she says as she jerks my flannel sleeve up. It’s cutting off my circulation.
“One two three,” there aren’t any pauses in her counting. First is the flu dose and after that’s the Covid. I feel something hit my forearm. A tiny droplet of Covid vaccine has splashed onto my skin. Have I been slated for death?
“Alright thank you hon have a great day. I can take whoever’s next over here!” she shouts.
I leave in a hurry. The drop of vaccine is still going through my mind. Did I get a full dose? Am I really protected? Maybe I should get back in line and get a second shot just to be sure. But I look back over the line. It’s even longer now, and even more old men are walking up and down, huffing.
“Is this the flu shot line or the Covid shot line?” a new one asks.
“Just the Covid,” someone confidently answers behind me. I turn to see Dried Rivers Man walking out the door, nodding to the other.
“Thanks,” the new man asks, and Rivers nods at him before continuing on his day.
I stand there for a second, wondering if it’s really the lead poisoning, or maybe something much worse, and I make my way to the car.