He keeps the elevator and lobby Covid-free with thorough cleaning and disinfecting. Cheerful, I greet him daily. His name is Nixon. I know little else about him, he’s a tall, strong, gentle man, a refugee from somewhere I think, might even have been an engineer in another life, but his language skills are so lacking, I can’t find out. But we smile and greet jovially. Never shake hands, of course, and, come to think of it, I actually have never seen him smile. Can tell by his eyes, I guess.
No pain. No band aid needed. She gave me a sticker that said on it the time I received my vaccine and when I could safely leave. My original appointment was for 9:25. My exit time was 9:25. Ha. The hardest part of the experience was driving the 30 miles to the dance hall in -8 temperatures. Kudos to Waconia Ridgeview Hospital for a job well done at the town event center! Never seen so many old farts in one room, socially distanced! Great job, Ridgeview! Lots of unused waiting lanes, labels, helpful polite volunteers. Planning pays!
When I got back, Nixon was hard at it, diligently disinfecting the elevators. Had to tell him. I jabbed at my arm, gesturing and shouting that I had just received my first vaccine!
He immediately gave a big universal “thumbs up” sign, and said “Thank You, Thank You,” which seemed a very odd response to my obnoxious bragging. Oh yes, I remembered. He doesn’t have an English vocabulary, just limited phrases.
“Thank you, thank you,” he repeated.
Then it struck me. He didn’t know it, but that was a very appropriate, intelligent remark. He made me realize it. I didn’t get that shot just for myself. I got it for Nixon too. And everyone else I love, and those in the herd. Together we’ll all get back to normal. So I will join Nixon and say it now as well. Thank you for getting a vaccine as soon as you possibly can. I am tired of all this. Thank you for helping to end it.
Thank you, thank you.