Humanity booster

Getting a booster shot should be easy. But nothing is easy with humans, especially when computers are involved

Photo by Jake Nackos on Unsplash

“This is like that scene in War Games,” I shouted from my office.

Down the hall, Christina yelled back from her office.

“What scene in War Games?”

“The one at the very beginning where the guys in the silo have to turn their keys at the same time to launch the missiles.”

“Doesn’t one guy pull a gun on the other guy because he won’t launch the nukes?”

“Yup.”

In that scene, we’re told the human element failed because the guys in the silos didn’t launch their missiles and, um, end humanity. But another way to read that scene is that the human element succeeded because the guys in the silos didn’t launch their missiles and end humanity. The character with a conscience was played by John Spencer, who would later become famous playing Leo McGarry on The West Wing. The character determined to shoot his friend so he could nuke humanity was played by Michael Madsen, the sociopathic Mr. Blonde, who cut off a cop’s ear in Reservoir Dogs. That’s good casting, folks.

Anyway, our situation wasn’t as high stakes as global thermal nuclear war. We were trying to book our booster appointments for the same time. But that was proving more difficult than it should for a society that’s already figured out how to end life on this planet with the turn of a key.

Christina snagged a Friday appointment, and I ended up with a time slot on Monday afternoon. I offered to drive her, and she accepted.

“There might be a walk-in option,” Christina said as we got in the car. “That way you don’t have to come back.”

“Hopefully. But the website was kind of confusing on the whole walk-in appointment thing. I clicked the button for walk-in locations and it spit out a list of places, but most of them were appointment-only, so…”

“Yeah, it was a little wonky-joe,” Christina said.

“Wonky-joe,” I agreed.

As it turned out, the wonky-joe website led us to a minor clusterfuck IRL at the Kaiser hospital in Panorama City. There were easily sixty people in the appointment line, but there was no waiting for walk-ins.

“Maybe you’ll be out of here lickety-splitsville,” Christina said.

“This feels fishy. I’m getting to the bottom of this.”

Christina found her spot at the back of the line. I went to speak with the lady at the reception desk.

The woman at the reception desk explained that the walk-in line was only for people getting their first or second dose, as well as for people getting flu shots. A few weeks ago, before the vaccine was approved for kids over five, demand was low and walk-ins were welcome. But now that kids over five can get vaccinated too, demand is up.

“Boosters are appointment only,” she said. “I’m really Sorry.”

“No problem,” I said. “I’m glad to hear demand is up. I’ll be back Monday for my appointment. See you then.”

“See you then.”

I started to walk away, but then turned around and added, “By the way, your explanation was great, but the walk-in thing is a little confusing on the website.”

“I know,” she sighed. “You’re not the only one who has said that.”

She started to apologize for the confusion, but two people with appointments interrupted. They were furious about the long appointment line, and while they said they wanted the receptionist to unfuck the situation, I got the feeling that what they really wanted was to take out their frustrations on another human. Clearly, the computer element had failed us, reducing the receptionist to a human apology-machine and the patients to assholes.

“No dice on the walk-in,” I told Christina. “I’ll come back Monday.”

In the distance, we heard a man yell out to anyone who would listen.

“I pay good money to Kaiser,” he screamed. “This is bullshit!”

Of course, we pay “good money” to Kaiser too. I’ve read our membership benefits thoroughly, and I’m sure they don’t include the right to yell at the staff.

“This line isn’t as bad as people think,” Christina said. “They’re taking people in batches. They call out for either Pfizer or Moderna, and five or six people go at a time. I don’t think it’ll be long.”

Christina was right. She waited about fifteen minutes—a very small sacrifice for a life-saving vaccine.

“What are you going to do while I’m in there?” Christina asked.

“Find a seat, do a little people watching.”

“Your favorite.”

I found a seat against the wall with a good view of the line. As soon as I sat down, the woman in the next seat asked if I was getting a flu shot.

“Nope, just waiting for my wife.”

The man who had yelled about paying “good money” to Kaiser erupted again. He was still angry about the line, but now his ire was directed about Joe Biden, who Americans elected to put an end to all lines.

“That man is stupid,” the woman next to me said. “So stupid.”

I might’ve gone with entitled over stupid to describe the man who was no blaming Joe Biden for the long line. But to each their own, I thought.

“Moderna,” a nurse shouted in the direction of the line. “Who needs Moderna?”

A few hands went up. The nurse took the person closest to the front of the line. A little later, the same nurse asked for Pfizer people. And so it went. Pfizer, Moderna. Moderna, Pfizer.

Two women in line caught my attention. They were commiserating over the fact that they both had to get back to work and check on their kids. Friendly good-natured banter. I thought, maybe these two women will become friends. They can exchange contact info, arrange play dates for their kids, and maybe even team up, the way people sometimes do in functional democracies, to demand programs so that working parents don’t have to choose between healthcare, career, and kids.

But that nascent dream went to shit when the woman wearing an N-95 mask said her appointment was for a booster shot, and the woman in the homemade mask said she was here for her second dose. I wondered why the woman seeking the second dose didn’t move over to the no-waiting walk-in line. But the woman in the N-95 mask fixated on a different question: what the fuck took you so long to get vaccinated? The conversation sputtered out and died.

“Moderna,” the nurse shouted. “Who needs Moderna?”

A dozen people raised their hands. The nurse took three people, but after those three people had checked in with the nurse and moved into the vaccination area, an older woman at the very front of the line said she was also there for Moderna.

“Why didn’t you say so?” the nurse asked.

The older woman looked confused, as older people sometimes do.

“She is so stupid,” the woman sitting next to me said. “They call Moderna. She does not say anything. So, she miss her turn. Stupid. Very stupid.”

“I think she just needs help,” I said.

“Don’t worry,” the nurse told the old woman. “I’ll make sure you’re next.”

“Stupid,” the woman next to me said. “Very stupid.”

Near the back of the line, a couple who looked to be in their eighties, had their own complaints. I didn’t know their names, of course, but the man reminded me of a local deli owner named Herman and the woman looked like a distant relative named Mitzi.

“What do we have to do to get a shot around here?” Herman asked.

“What kind of system is this?” Mitzi wondered. “There should be two lines: one for Moderna, one for Pfizer. That way people know what’s what, instead of this mishegas.”

Without looking up from his phone, a middle-aged man wearing a Beastie Boys t-shirt told Herman and Mitzi to “advocate” for themselves.

“You gotta fight,” he advised Herman and Mitzi, just as the Beastie Boys had advised his entire generation to fight for their right… to party.

And so they fought. They yelled about the long line. Soon, another man, a fiery Russian octogenarian I nicknamed Leon, joined the fray. It was on like Donkey Kong, but according to the woman next to me, Herman, Mitzi, and Leon were “stupid.”

The receptionist and an orderly responded to the commotion.

“It said to walk-in, so I’m here, but now you say I need appointment,” Leon shouted. “I do not need appointment!”

“He’s so stupid,” said the woman next to me.

The receptionist explained that Leon did need an appointment for a booster, which was news to Herman and Mitzi, who said they were under the impression that walk-ins could get boosters because of a button on the website that spit out a list of walk-in locations.

“The website is wrong about that,” the receptionist said.

“You are wrong!” Leon said.

“This is madness,” Mitzi said.

“They are so stupid,” said the woman next to me. “Can’t follow instructions—stupid.”

Leon threatened to sue.

“Kaiser will have big problems with my lawyer,” Leon said. “He is great lawyer. I will own Kaiser, and fire you.”

“I’m sorry for the misunderstanding,” the receptionist said. “They just authorized vaccines for kids, and we’re starting to hit the mandate deadlines, so there’s a lot of demand, and we’re only doing appointments at the moment.”

“We need boosters!” Herman said. “We are very old.”

“Kaiser will have big public relations problems with me,” Leon vowed. “I am important man.”

“Advocate,” Beastie Boy advised again, without looking up from his phone.

And so Herman, Mitzi, and their new friend, Leon, advocated. Which is to say, they yelled and screamed until the nurse finally came out to speak with them. After explaining how appointments work, the trio resumed their “advocacy,” albeit at a higher volume. The receptionist gave up and walked away, the orderly shrugged, and eventually the nurse caved.

“You can get your booster, if you promise to be quiet,” she said. “Please stop making a disturbance.”

“You cannot silence me,” Leon said.

But the nurse had already begun walking back to her station. Herman grumbled a little about the mix-up with the website, but let it go. Mitzi shifted focus and began complaining about people who aren’t getting their kids vaccinated.

“These people are idiots,” she said. “Who could be so cruel? I am ninety-three. I want to live. Don’t they want their children to live? Fools!”

Once again, the woman sitting next to me leaned over and said that Herman, Mitzi, and Leon were “very stupid,” before adding that Kaiser is also “stupid.” But I wasn’t so sure about that. Hadn’t Herman, Mitzi, and Leon prevailed?

Just then, the nurse stopped in front of me. If I “advocated” in the style of a Beastie Boy, I realized, I could get my booster today, without an appointment. But the nurse looked like a nice lady whose patience had been worn down by nearly two years of a deadly clusterfuck. Besides, yelling at the nurse felt more like sabotage than advocacy.

“Hang in there,” I said.

The nurse nodded. I like to think that under her mask she smiled. But then she looked over at the woman sitting next to me.

“Why didn’t you get your flu shot yet?” the nurse asked.

“I am waiting for my flu shot,” the woman said.

“But you don’t have to wait,” the nurse said. “I told you to stand in the walk-in line.”

“Oh.”

“You could’ve been out of here thirty minutes ago.”

“Oh.”

“Come on, let’s get you your flu shot,” the nurse said.

The woman gathered her things and rose from her seat. I wanted to say, whose stupid now? After all, she had wasted thirty minutes of her life mocking confused people for failing to understand a system that had also baffled her. It would feel good to deliver a little karma. But what would that accomplish? There were enough assholes in this story already, I knew. So, I stifled the urge to say, you suck, and instead went with, “good luck!”