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Today I went with my father to get our second vaccine doses. Although I haven't yet visited the University town, at least I know Oxford has visited me in a small vial labelled AZ, and twice!
The waiting room was more crowded than I had seen it in a while, and I got that little pang of worry that seems to have become normal when more than a few people are in the same room these days.
The doctor called us both at once and we went in together. It has been my father's mission to get our latest GP to engage with him on a more personal level, and today he achieved it - only a small laugh, but the smiling eyes behind his surgical mask was victory enough for dad. A medical assistant came in to administer the shots, declaring "Freedom!" after each needle had been pulled out of our arms. I told him I would have to go home and watch Braveheart.
Back in the waiting room, we sat on the padded bench for the prescribed 15 minutes. Dad and I made prime conversation targets for an older lady who had also been sitting there. She offered her various takes on the vaccine and made it hard to figure out whether she was happy to be having it or dubious about the whole thing. At the mention of booster shots, she said "I hope they don't come too soon, we can't be having needles every day of the week". I suppose that's true enough, but what can you really say to that? Despite our reluctance to talk, she left the real humdinger till last: "I guess we're just waiting here to see whether we die in 15 minutes or not". Don't get me wrong - some dark humour seldom goes astray, but it's not exactly what you want to hear when the stuff has just started flowing around your bloodstream...
Her ringing mobile and dad glancing at his watch meant it was time to escape. We emerged back into the world, and the world decided to keep being strange.
Just outside the shopping centre, we spotted a man with a large bandana over his face pushing a Coles trolley full of carved up meat. Huge chunks of beef and ribs stacked on top of each other, totally uncovered, totally unexplained. If it was a delivery for a butcher, it was a weird way to do it. Call it wild imagination, but my thoughts were running to cartels and carcasses. With crime on my mind, my talent for overthinking was tested a second time when a solid man in full motorbike gear (body armour, helmet and all) strode into the shopping centre and made a beeline for a storage shop. I've seen enough films to know that the guy might have been about to enact a stick-up, and let me tell you, he could have scored some serious Tupperware from that place.
Time to calm down, I think.
The waiting room was more crowded than I had seen it in a while, and I got that little pang of worry that seems to have become normal when more than a few people are in the same room these days.
The doctor called us both at once and we went in together. It has been my father's mission to get our latest GP to engage with him on a more personal level, and today he achieved it - only a small laugh, but the smiling eyes behind his surgical mask was victory enough for dad. A medical assistant came in to administer the shots, declaring "Freedom!" after each needle had been pulled out of our arms. I told him I would have to go home and watch Braveheart.
Back in the waiting room, we sat on the padded bench for the prescribed 15 minutes. Dad and I made prime conversation targets for an older lady who had also been sitting there. She offered her various takes on the vaccine and made it hard to figure out whether she was happy to be having it or dubious about the whole thing. At the mention of booster shots, she said "I hope they don't come too soon, we can't be having needles every day of the week". I suppose that's true enough, but what can you really say to that? Despite our reluctance to talk, she left the real humdinger till last: "I guess we're just waiting here to see whether we die in 15 minutes or not". Don't get me wrong - some dark humour seldom goes astray, but it's not exactly what you want to hear when the stuff has just started flowing around your bloodstream...
Her ringing mobile and dad glancing at his watch meant it was time to escape. We emerged back into the world, and the world decided to keep being strange.
Just outside the shopping centre, we spotted a man with a large bandana over his face pushing a Coles trolley full of carved up meat. Huge chunks of beef and ribs stacked on top of each other, totally uncovered, totally unexplained. If it was a delivery for a butcher, it was a weird way to do it. Call it wild imagination, but my thoughts were running to cartels and carcasses. With crime on my mind, my talent for overthinking was tested a second time when a solid man in full motorbike gear (body armour, helmet and all) strode into the shopping centre and made a beeline for a storage shop. I've seen enough films to know that the guy might have been about to enact a stick-up, and let me tell you, he could have scored some serious Tupperware from that place.
Time to calm down, I think.