Forgive a trite title and threadbare content, but here goes with a whole lotta vaccine nothing with a little nip-o-fun to kick around.
Proposed: no uberpassport is coming
any time soon. Maybe y’all already settled this when I wasn’t looking, but fears and outrages about vaccine passports were still in style earlier in April, so maybe it’s not a dead letter . . . . yet. I got to thinking about all the people with those stupid little cards, and I put that with how indifferently data and such are recorded, and I realized that two things can’t happen:
A serious program of vaccination compliance managed at pickets by minimum wage types via a half billion scraps of ratty, suspicious, dog-eared, coffee-spattered paper can’t be deployed to wrangle all of America. Don’t have yours? can’t get it back/replaced? no record found in the state system where they can send you another? That’s okay; we know: we’ve already heard that one 50 million times this week. Go on in, at least at Walmart and other mundane and necessary venues.
A national system of phone apps and databases and barcodes and satellites hooking up to prove you can super-super-safely go to this football game or board that cruise won’t happen, either. Tens of millions of people have already been inoculated and documented, poorly (hat tip, Frank Zappa), interwebs notwithstanding; what data got keyed and where those piles of ones and zeros ended up aren’t ever going to get perfectly aligned.
And you can’t make generations get re-re-re-vaccinated just to get a new piece of paper or to make super-super-sure that your name is in the computer right. That sort of thing will come to pass right after 10 million Mexicans get deported and Muhammed al-Mohammad gets to fly again.
Well, maybe so, Don, but would you please tell me an anecdote that proves nothing whatsoever? Yes; why, yes, I will: I escaped my first dose until recently, about two or three months after I could have . . . because I’m a special case as you all well know. Originally I had signed up with the county of Shelby of which Memphis is the seat and, when the time came, I went down to get my fair share of abuse, and, while idling there in the Group W queue, started filling out their paper. I guess they deserve a name, but I believe that race BS is ruining the country, so, @kmele-like, I don’t identify as any of their arbitrary cohorts, and I’m morally opposed to filling out anybody’s race stuff: I won’t help them ruin this country. So the county of Shelby waved me right on through and I found my happy arse back in the road uninspected, undetected, and uninjected. NO RACE = NO JAB.
Then I thought I’d just go to Walgreen’s and pay my way around this bull mess, but their app wouldn’t let me pick the store right next to my office. Wouldn’t work on my phone. Couldn’t do on my laptop. No way on NewWife’s laptop. Geeze.
Then I thought I’d just go to Baptist Hospital where all my suburban white-identifying geezer golfer bros been a getting stuck, but their online form makes you put in your social security number. Nothing necessarily wrong with that, maybe, you be the judge, but I hate being tracked and I hate my SSN being used as ID and I just look for reasons to stay pissed off and I guess I find them.
So I went back to Walgreen dot com and signed up for the store that they would give me and they emailed me a lovely reminder that listed that I must bring my
- driver’s license
- medical insurance card
- and a copy of this letter
and I certainly did none of that. But I did drive the ten miles past the SuperConvenient Walgreens right next to my office and went in, I mean . . . . . . . . . . I mean I went, I went in and sat down right there in the line at the OtherWalgreens and they gave me a form and it sezs right thar: whatchorace? I had been real nice to the receptionist grinning through my mask and Barney- and Gomer-ing through the pleasantries and I fly through the form and broke down. I broke down and checked a race box: OTHER. Ethnicity: DECLINE TO DECLARE. DL: REFUSED TO PROVIDE. Insurance: they didn’t ask for it, of course.
And she, a gal who might well happily identify as NotWhite, didn’t give a $**t about any of that or force the issue or argue or even look at me cockeyed. She simply typed a moment, clicked Send, and promptly gave me a receipt and vaccine-training papers and sent me to sit over there . . . NOW, KID! And five minutes later I was stuck, and ten minutes after that I had a card with my name utterly mispelt. I have a very, very rare Scottish name that got rolled and ruined somewhere between Ulster and Appalachia, and The Card I got completely obscures any connection I have with my father, son, wife, or ancestry. That’s what my governor got from OtherWalgreens: no SSN, no DL, and the wrong name.
That’s all well and good, Don, but Memphis could f**k up a wet dream and won’t we, nationally, do much better later with boosters or variants after this first national nightmare passes and we’ve had time to better organize and invest those
in helpful and efficient ways and don’t you know what I’m trying to ask here? Well, friend, I reckon not. No one is going to stop you from getting Vaccine 2024-7F because you can’t prove you got one of the earlier rounds of good-old-like-your-mom-useta-make COVID19 shoulder soup; it’s hopeless, coffee-spatted forms all the way down. So this game of trust me is going to be like a TS16949 audit: liars being wrong and getting caught and smoothing it over with a frivolous fix and the auditor writing up his opportunities for improvement and cashing his check and getting out of town and good CompanyXXX getting their little form to frame and hang in reception even though there’s no way to prove that their Tier-CXCLIII suppliers aren’t using child- or slave-labor to handle chemicals known by the state of California to make you want to pay 66% taxes.
Maybe there will be a fancy system for careful people doctored on in proper facilities, but that’s going to be under 10% of folks and activities. You simply can’t run a railroad on the nonsense we’ve built. We can’t even pretend to run a railroad this way.
So why not have a little fun with this.
Picket: ihre Papiere, bitte
Escaped: (hands over crumpled form that I wish I had printed out on yellow paper like real German vaccine records)
P: umm . . . doesn’t look like the other forms
E: they do things differently in Germany (not a lie: they certainly can’t say that ain’t so)
P: this isn’t CDC approved
E: well not everyone got their vaccine here (not a lie: it was at least a mile away from this particular theater in my case)
P: I should warn you that fake forms are illegal
E: (smiles and vigorously nods agreeing . . . that using CDC logos is a crime because I didn’t use a CDC logo)
P: enjoy the movie (hands back useless stunt form)
E: (tips hat, moves on, and wonders when Congress will get around to writing any definitive laws in this matter or creating enough prisons to house all those deplorables with their secretly 2D-printed 80% lower would-be OFFICIAL VACCINE PASSPORTS)
Remember Alice? This was a song about Alice.