On Thursday, March 11th, a very grim anniversary for the world, I found myself being ordered to sit on a hard plastic chair in a Wal-Mart garden center for fifteen minutes. Luckily, it was the air-conditioned section, where a giant propeller of a ceiling fan was constantly swirling up a refreshing breeze tinged with the scent of pool chemicals and potting soil. I had just emerged from behind a Coroplast privacy screen advertising in English and Spanish that today’s vaccinations were for COVID-19. Totally prepared for this obligatory meditation next to a cash register where an older gentleman was buying potted pepper plants, I took out one of my books about film history and sat with relief as the unexpected banality of the moment (and precious mRna) flowed through my veins.
On the morning of March 5th, as soon as I woke up, I checked Wal-Mart’s pharmacy site and saw openings for vaccine appointments. I never clicked on something so fast and hard in my life. It was perfect timing (right after work, one county over, only about 20 minutes’ drive from my office) and almost as soon as I reserved it, all the other appointments vanished like a fart in the wind. For the first time in a long while, I actually had a reason to go to Walmart, and now I can shake my vaccination card in Ron DeSantis’ stupid fucking face because Uncle Joe Biden said I could get vaccinated despite the more restrictive Florida state guidelines.
Recently I had three windows open on my laptop at work—eBay bidding style—watching pages refresh over and over for 45 minutes until a nearby Publix came through and I got an appointment for my mother. And just this morning, I jumped right onto Publix's site again to score my 60+ dad an appointment later this week. I am 100% THAT millennial who is assisting their elderly parents navigate the swamp of the internet.
As soon as the eligibility requirements for the vaccine shifted in Florida, I went from verdant envy and anger to a sense of elite prioritized privilege overnight. While this is a new status for Floridian educators (*eyeroll*), the irony is that I’ve been living pure privilege this entire pandemic.
Due to Gov. Ron's unsurpassed wisdom (*eyeroll*), I’ve been back on campus since August, and have been living in abject fear of catching shit from a snotty, sticky student ever since. I know, I’m so oppressed; I never lost my job and have had regular paychecks throughout the entire lockdown and subsequent random quarantine crap and was never in danger of running out of toilet paper because I use bidets. I also happened to already have phenomenal introversion superpowers and had no problem occupying myself while isolated in my comfortable house for months on end with no mental degradation whatsoever. In fact, I spent all my extra non-social time re-memorizing Shakespeare monologues and watching foreign films and achieving doctorate-level knowledge on Sir Ken Branagh’s career, and this is the whitest sentence I think I've ever written.
I have no children to feed/homeschool nor complicating medical conditions. I live in a warm, pleasant part of the country that allows for much outdoor activity and have an Amazon Prime account to order random housewares and shoes on a whim. I am fully aware of my high level of privilege, and how it most definitely rendered the pandemic a relatively mild-to-medium inconvenience that has only really prevented me from hanging out with friends/family and/or traveling. I miss chilling with my grandma and having normal family holidays and going to art museums and fancy bars in New York City. That’s the extent of it, really.
And yet, I nearly cried when I got my vaccine appointment booked. I believe part of it is that I’m tired of being constantly reminded how random people in the community and certain coworkers flout all the pandemic mitigation rules and have been going about life maskless and idiotic for months without any regard for others’ safety. I’m sick of it. I’m tired of how intentionally dumb people are. I just want to be immune from whatever it is that may be brought into my office through no fault of my own. I know people who have lost their jobs, or been hospitalized, or died due to COVID. It’s never been a joke, and I’m resentful of anybody who doesn’t take it seriously.
Now that my arm has experienced a strangely comforting state of warm soreness for two days, and I got my packet of Fauci Ouchie buttons to give to my friend and my mom, I’m able to contemplate my newfound peace of mind. I hope that worthier people have gotten this thing before me. I hope that everyone physically able to gets jabbed very soon. I hope we never get to a point where we are so locked down and bored that we are forced to have a collective conversation about anyone as bizarre as Joe Exotic ever again.
Comments