Vaccination

Ah, Walmart: the artery of American life, and sometimes, of death.

So today I made my annual pilgrimage to Walmart in order to get my flu shot. I was greeted by an attractive pharmacist (who, I noted, seemed to be close to my own age of 60 years). She handed me a clipboard and questionairre and told me to fill it out. I quickly filled out the questionnaire, made some small talk with the attractive pharmacist (all the while marveling at the fact that she seemed to be my age, or close to it). I was asked if I ever experienced any adverse effects from a flu shot, and I lied when I said no — I figured my body was already so full of alcohol and other chemicals, adding another vaccine couldn’t make that much of a difference.

I was instructed to find a seat and wait to be called. I settled in to wait my turn. Next to me sat an elderly gent, somewhere in the neighborhood of 106 years of age. He made odd grunting noises and spoke some kind of ancient, indecipherable language to himself while I stayed quiet, staring straight ahead at the shelves of compression socks and orthotics.

The attractive pharmacist eventually called my name and told me to enter behind a mobile privacy wall, in doing so I stepped into the bizarre landscape beyond it. After asking which arm I’d like to be injected with the vaccine — I opted for the left — she soon had the needle in my arm. While pumping the life saving elixir into my arm she asked me what my race was and I quickly answered, well used to this kind of question by now. She then suggested that I might want to consider getting a shingles vaccine too — yet another sign of the aging process that one has to bear.

With a newfound feeling of health and well-being, I made my departure. As I navigated my way out of the store, a strange commotion at the front entrance caught my attention. All I heard was a woman scolding a man, telling him “I never want to see you in this store again!” He was pleading with her, apologizing profusely at learning his Walmart privileges had just been eternally revoked. No doubt he will find himself being forced to forage through the second-hand aisles of thrift stores and dollar marts, they will have to do until he can wheedle his way back into Walmart’s good graces.

And so, I made good my escape and am now home, writing this blog entry. It’s been a productive morning.