Chutzpah or Stupidity

Big smile – he was in his early 20’s, good looking, brash and driving a sporty car. He pulled up in front of the Transfiguration Catholic Church social hall, leaned out the window and called to us as we were hauling our vaccination clinic gear to our cars.

“What’s happening here?”

“We just finished a Covid-19 vaccination clinic,” I responded.

“Oh, great! Do you have any of those little white cards? I’m traveling next month and need them for the airlines.” He flashed his best smile at us.

“You have to get the vaccination to get the card,” the nurse next to me said in her best patient-patience voice.

His smile faded only slightly as he revved his engine. He shouted as he started to pull away. “No problem, I’ll get one from my buddy.”

The nurse and I stood, arms crossed across our chests, staring as the car disappeared around the corner. I wanted to say WTF but I was in front of the church, so I just shook my head and continued loading vaccine and equipment in the back of my mini SUV.

Do I get it? No. Do I wish he contracts the disease? No. Did it piss me off? Yes. Does his behavior worry me? Yes, I am flying soon and fervently hope the person who sits squished up next to me has really had their vaccination. Big smile. He was in his early twenties, good looking, brash, and driving a sporty car. He pulled up in front of the Transfiguration Catholic Church social hall, leaned out the window, and called to me and my colleague as we were hauling our vaccination clinic gear to our cars.  

“What’s happening here?” he inquired. 

“We just finished a Covid-19 vaccination clinic,” I responded. 

“Oh, great! Do you have any of those little white cards? I’m traveling next month and need them for the airlines.” He flashed his best smile at us. 

“You have to get the vaccination to get the card,” the nurse next to me said in her best patient-patience voice.  

His smile faded only slightly as he revved his engine. He shouted as he started to pull away. “No problem. I’ll get one from my buddy.” 

The nurse and I stood, arms crossed across our chests, staring as the car disappeared around the corner. I wanted to say “WTF,” but I was in front of the church, so I just shook my head and continued loading vaccines and equipment into the back of my mini-SUV. 

Do I get it? No. Do I wish that he contracts the disease? No. Did he piss me off? Yes. Does his behavior worry me? Yes. I am flying soon and fervently hope that the person who sits squished up next to me has actually been fully vaccinated. 

Published by Carole J. Garrison

I’m a conversationalist, an observer, a passionate participant in life. And now, in my later years, I’m a recorder of the lessons of my life through essays, stories, and novels. I live in the fourth moment of life, just outside the normal distribution of most people and it is from this place that I write.

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