Earlier this morning, as I was rolling out the trashcan, my neighbor from across the street gave me a holler.
“Have you gotten your vaccination yet?”
“Hell, No!”
Yesterday, as I was having my eyes examined, my optometrist asked if I’d been vaccinated yet.
“Hell, NO!” I answered in a volume that startled even me.
Fact is, although I am a citizen 77 years of age with a pre-existing medical condition, chances of me ever getting a COVID shot are pretty much zero. Why? Because, here in the state of Utah, the immunization process is being managed by the same folks who oversee the distribution of alcoholic beverages—meaning, that yes, in theory I could get a shot of, say, whiskey, but it wouldn’t happen until after I had jumped through a series of bureaucratic hoops.
In order to get a COVID shot, I’ll first have to upload something called an APP onto a smart phone, and it so happens I don’t own a smart phone. Why? Well, I remember back to the days when I was a kid, when stereoscopes were the rage. Everywhere you looked, you’d see pedestrians blindly strolling hither and yon, eyes fixed on 3-D images of Lincoln’s inauguration. Some bumped into telegraph poles and tumbled into watering troughs; others were run over by stagecoaches. That’s when I decided I’d never allow myself to become addicted to a personal device of any kind, and I’ve kept that promise. Nowadays, I’m the guy—the ONLY guy—who keeps his eyes on the road and looks out where he is going.
Sadly, there is no point in me driving across the valley to the rodeo grounds or wherever the hell shots are being administered, because I’m unable to secure an appointment. Not that I haven’t tried, but on the day I did, so did 150,000 other senior citizens, whereupon the county’s website immediately crashed. Is it up and running now? I can’t say. I don’t know because I don’t have a smart phone, and even if I did, I’m unable to text with my thumbs. I use all fingers, as I’m doing right now, on my trusty QUERTY keyboard.
Funny thing is, the first presidency of the church formerly called Mormons, have all gotten their shots, even though they’re much older than I am and know even less about modern technology than I do. Same goes for my second cousin on Death Row, who can only communicate with the outside world by tapping on a drain pipe. But I’m not arguing against inoculating prisoners or prophets; all I’m saying is, I wish somehow the people who supposedly run things around here were capable of organizing a process. Just form a line, and I’ll be happy to wait my turn.