I Was Shot By A Supermodel
Today I was shot.
Twice.
Left arm.
Although The Company stated vaccinations were not a necessity for Japan I decided to run on the Better Safe Than Sorry Ballot and opt to get a few immunizations. The flu shot has always been one of those puzzlers for me as I swear people that I know who testify on getting a yearly flu shot like it was holy doctrine sniffle and blow and cough and wheeze like us flu shot atheists do come winter. From the chart given to me at the Health Unit I was actually shocked to see I had never had a flu shot in all of my 29 years. There were no smiley faces in that column. Oh yes, the entire repertoire of shots one receives in their lifetime are checked off as a tiny smiley face. I certainly could see such graphic representation of progress used in, say, a kindergarten class or maybe the circus but for a medical history seeing those little midget heads grinning their permanent grins was a little alarming. I wondered just who would be administering these shots, Happy The Vaccination Clown? Checkmarks, folks, when in doubt always stick with the checkmarks. Anyway, as of 3 o’clock this afternoon I am a flu shot virgin no more. Today, I became a flu shot man!
The young woman who issued the vaccines was far from clown material and edged more into the area of supermodel. Certainly one might say this girl could be gracing the covers of Maxim, Stuff and if they tossed an apron on her Hot Chefs Monthly. She was dressed in a slimming green sweater and loose fitting slacks. Her auburn hair smelled of Herbal Essence. Her eyes were cornflower blue...I think. I was looking at her chest area for the better part of the 10 minutes I spent with her. Did she even have eyes? She was out of place in her surroundings, like a rose blooming wild in a compost heap. Why was she here amongst these sharp objects? Did she enjoy administering pain? Was she some kind of sexy masochist that, after a hard day at the clinic, trudges home to her bondage ropes and riding crop and proceeds to strap trembling men down to strange contraptions of leather and steal?
Now, I’m a very inquisitive type. It’s my nature to probe and prod at the world around me like, oh, say John Holmes in the 70s only with less messy residue…usually. I thought to myself, what a strange job this must be. Here was this small room with posters of sexually preventative measures and various charts adorning the walls and dim florescent lights casting strange shadows making everything seem more sinister then it actually was and there in the center of it all was a table with a couple dozens syringes laid out all in a row. Adjacent to these were three boxes with a label informing me that they contained over 100 more per box. Next to the box was the Goddess in Green filling a syringe with hemagglutinin. I looked at the supermodel and opined: “This must be a strange gig.” She looked at me, loaded needle in hand, puzzled look on her unblemished face. I attempted to further explain myself. “You know, a strange job. I mean, you pretty much see somebody for five minutes, stab them, send them on their way and then repeat the process until your shift is over. Do you find it strange, you know, stabbing people for a living?” The sexy supermodel stabber did not smile but she offered a reply: “It’s interesting.”
Now, I suppose a normal guy might have chosen this point to get his arm jabbed, thank the gal for her time, snatch one more glance of ample bosom and head on out the door. Instead I decided I needed more toenails implanted firmly between my teeth and a few more feet of dug up earth. Like Lewis and Clark on the mighty Columbia I blazed unabashedly forward. “I guess it works out your aggressions, huh?” At first I thought she would remain stone-faced but a grin soon formed into an all out smile to reveal only three green teeth and a tongue as slimy as an earthworm sprawled on the sidewalk after a good downpore. Nah, just kidding. The whitest of white teeth, ladies and gents. Ice now firmly broken she began to toss questions off of me. I figured I had opened the interview exchange door and related the where and the why and the how. It was a short conversation but what do you want from a gal who just jabbed you twice in the arm with a needle? She seemed generally interested and I hope I left her as more then just another man she poked that afternoon.
I am now ready to take on flu, tetanus, diphtheria, measles, mumps and rubella. I am a walking machine of immunity, a terminator of viruses and a destroyer of sickness microbes. You little bastards try to penetrate me with your vile illnesses and you will know real fear. Come on, cross this line, I doubled dog dare ya! I eat viruses like you for breakfast. Okay, I actually eat Fruit Loops but if I could eat viruses like you for breakfast rest assured you’d be washed down with OJ and evacuated into the sewer system by mid afternoon.
Do not test me, flu! Do not try my patience, diphtheria! I will bring down such fury upon thee that future generations of you vile fiends will need re-constructive surgery. Hope you buggers got some health insurance because if you venture into this body for a little sickness spreading holiday, buddy boys, you’re gonna’ need it. You want to know pain, sirs, just ask chicken pox what I did to it in the 80s! Furthermore, are you feeling lucky punks, I’ll be back, whatcha’ gonna’ do when the largest arms in the world run wild on you, I’m your worst nightmare, to be the man –whoo- you got to beat the man, yippi-ki-yay motherfucker and you will know my name is the lord when I lay my vengeance upon you. Yeah, that about covers it!
