Thirty four minutes past ten in the morning.
That was the time written on the folder that Nikki gave me after giving me my first dose of the COVID19 vaccine on Thursday.
It was exactly 15 minutes past the time I got the shot and, like the hundreds of other people in the room, I was instructed to wait to make sure I did not have a reaction other than joy.
When I was first invited to make the appointment – earlier than Maureen because I am an adjunct at a local college, I struggled with whether to wait for her so we could go together. Then I heard her voice in my head, “This isn’t a date, take the earliest spot you can find.” So I did.
When I arrived, the police directed me to the proper parking lot. I parked and followed safely behind all the other masked folks heading into the building.
What I found there was nothing short of festive.
Some tunes from the 1950s played and a few nurses were dancing in the aisle, though not with each other. The first person greeted me with a huge smile (at least that’s what it looked like in his eyes) and asked me to fill out some paperwork he knew I had already done online. “Hey, it’s government, what can I tell you?” he joked.
I went from that line to the kiosk where they checked ID and confirmed I was a teacher and then from that kiosk to another line where you were invited into either line 1, 2, 3… all the way to 12 to take your place six feet behind the person already in the chair getting their shot.
When it got to be my turned, I exposed my shoulder, confirmed my ID again, and asked the nurse her name. I told her I wanted to pray in thanksgiving for her and the work she and her colleagues were doing. She got a surprised look on her face, smiled, thanked me, and administered the shot. We were both overcome by the experience of all of it that nothing else was spoken.
The National Guardsmen were there wiping down chairs and giving direction. It occurred to me that other than attending a ceremony welcoming a group home from the war, I have had very little interaction with men and women in the Guard. I’ve never been evacuated, never had to be rescued, never been in a military conflict, and never been that up close with those who sign up to serve so selflessly.
People of all races and all ages were all around – smiling, waving at old friends, following directions without complaint. I kept thinking that this was the best of us. Between the music and the atmosphere and the knowledge that an end might be in sight, it was a nice respite from the year we have had of keeping our distance and seeing family only through Zoom.
As I sat looking at the clock, another person came over to make the follow up appointment for shot number two. She could tell a birthday would happen between now and then and wished me well.
Then, time was up. My fifteen minutes of people watching ended and I headed towards the door. The young lady seated there joked that it was her job to catch people who couldn’t tell time. Like everyone else, she was happy, even excited to do a mundane task because, I suppose, of the implications of this very place.
So many lives have been lost. So many people with whom we have become disconnected. So many parties and dinners and birthdays and picnics cancelled. Life looks so much different than it did before. It should look different. We are different.
Still, bright spots emerge. Brought to us by a group of people we have never met but who bring out the best in all of us.
God bless you Nikki and Charlie and Keisha and Mike – and all your coworkers in the vineyard of keeping us safe.