COLUMN: Vaccinated

I may have been on this planet for some five decades now, but nothing seems more preposterous than the idea of some young person turning to ME for sagely wisdom about life. Frankly, I'm just not real good at this "existence" business. I will never pretend to be better than you, because I know I'm not. I don't even know HOW to get on a high horse.

But yesterday? For one brief second, I got to play the hero. I was brave, and I did a good thing: I got stabbed in the arm. If all goes well, in a matter of weeks, I will be an invincible superhero -- or at least able to shop for groceries within six feet of another human being, and that's close enough.

You should do it, too.

I'm not here to pick a fight with you anti-vaxxers. Nobody wins. Some people are afraid the vaccine isn't safe. Well, fine, I guess. Whatever. I'll put my faith in scienc-y people, because I sat next to some of them in high school and they seemed really smart. For me, it's a risk I was willing to take. "Could I suffer a side effect?" vs. "Do I ever want to attend a concert again?" Concerts won out.

Then there are people out there -- we all have that ONE uncle on Facebook -- who think the vaccine is part of a sinister plot to subjugate us all to the nefarious plans of, I dunno, I guess Dolly Parton and Dr. Fauci. Or the vaccine contains secret tracking chips so Bill Gates can spy on us.

I hate to break it to your over-inflated sense of self-importance, but Bill Gates most likely does NOT care about what you're having for dinner tonight. A similar rumor hits social media every year without fail. You know, the one that claims Facebook is going to claim ownership of all your social media content unless you post something that says, "No, Mark Zuckerberg! You may NOT have my photos!"

Mark Zuckerberg owns approximately eleventy kajillion dollars. He does not need the selfie of you in the red dress at the club. With just the spending money in his wallet, he could probably buy the club, the dress, and pay Kim Kardashian to wear it there. Honestly, if Mark Zuckerberg wants the 18 photos of my cats that adorn my Facebook page, he's welcome to them. 

Are there creepy violations of our privacy happening online? You bet. Do some websites track where we go online? Sure -- but they're mostly doing it in order to serve us ads based on our interests. Websites need to sell ads to make money. And if those sites are going to shove ads in my face, I'd rather they be for products I might actually care about. If Bill Gates really DID just put a tracking chip in my arm, he's welcome to spy on my exciting life ("My God, he's STILL on the couch. It's been ten hours. Do you think he's dead?")

The only fear I had to overcome when it came to getting the vaccine wasn't the vaccine. It was the "getting" part.

I'm terrified of needles. I remember the last time I got a vaccine. It was a booster shot I needed in grade school. I remember the nurse telling me "it's just like a little bee sting." I'm allergic to little bee stings. Little bee stings can kill me. I screamed so loud, I broke all the blood vessels in my face and walked around purple for a week.

But yesterday I did the unthinkable. Of my own free will, I went up to a nice lady and said, "Hello, I'm here for my injection, please." If you go out today, please be mindful -- the forecast calls for freezing hell and flying pigs. 

The down side? I may have caught COVID-19 from the dude next to me in the vaccine line. Mine took place at the grocery store, where there's a helpful smile in every aisle -- and a woman who stabs people with needles. Afterwards, they ask you to stick around for a few minutes, which is admittedly less than resassuring. "The vaccine is perfectly safe, but go wait here for fifteen minutes to make sure you don't die."

Worse yet, the guy ahead of me appeared to already have COVID-27 or 28. The entire time, he was coughing up a lung -- and with each cough, he thoughtfully reached up and pulled DOWN his mask to hack open-mouthed into the air. I was supposed to wait fifteen minutes, but I snuck out after five. I'd rather die of an allergic reaction on MY terms than catch grocery store cooties before the vaccine has a chance to do its trick.

It's trick, by the way, is to make your arm hurt so bad that you forget all about COVID. It's already much better now, but yesterday was unpleasant. I went to pick up a cat last night and about screamed. But it goes away. 

With any luck -- and a lot of needles -- so will COVID.