Golden Ticket

I check my email for the seventh time that day. A local single wants to meet me. If that was ever true it sure isn’t right now. Charities need money. Maybe later. I really should wish that Facebook friend a happy birthday. When was the last time you talked to them? Six years ago. I wasn’t good at maintaining relationships even in the before times. When was the last time you used Facebook? Two weeks maybe. I am actually proud of that.

I am not seeing what I want. Where is that goddamn covid certificate? It has been three weeks, two days, and six hours since the second shot. That day was stressful. One hour on that bus to the vaccination site. Two hours waiting around. Eight million morons seemingly, clogging the streets in endlessly beeping, and revving douche-mobiles because this had to be scheduled for rally weekend. Twenty minutes waiting in line just to be admitted. A second line inside.

Four people allowed in front of me. One with Down syndrome, one in a wheelchair, two that look fine to me. Finally my turn. Fifteen minute safety freeze. No one leave the area. Inside I’m screaming. Finally two very nice healthcare workers bestow that precious vile of protection onto me. Fifteen minutes in the waiting area to preclude a bad reaction. I felt a year and a half worth of anxiety evaporate.

Now though it has returned with a vengeance. Three days past was the promised arrival date. Check it an eighth time. Still nothing except deals on Amazon. One more day and I am calling somebody. Society is beginning to reopen and I need that golden ticket. A code that unlocks the doors of bars, restaurants and theatres.

The next morning it comes in the mail. Snail mail. Oh no. It’s a piece of A4 paper. I am supposed to fold it up and carry it around like a pamphlet. Are they freaking serious. It was bad enough when after the first shot they gave me a card too big for my wallet as a record. The only useful information was the date for the next one.

But that was delayed for my age group. And then it wasn’t. Did the 1 in 250,000 chance of a blood clot really matter? I ended up receiving it 11 weeks after the first. Which was on April the first. If that phone call had been a joke I was actually going to murder somebody I had promised myself.

Well this promises to be awkward. Can’t get it wet and can’t laminate it because someone may actually ask to scan the barcode on this thing. Do I carry it around in a Ziploc bag then?

Still I have my key to life as it was before. Before. What was that like? Well I spent my days on my couch watching a lot of bad TV and a small amount of quality programing. My nights were devoted to drinking amounts of alcohol that frequently elicited surprise from servers.

I had friendships but they were shallow affairs. This was not the sort of thing that comes easy to me so I approach the matter with extreme caution. Seldom if ever make invites. Always accept what is your time worth anyway? Often times just skulk at the watering hole and see if anyone turns up. Most of the time I only needed the seat and the glass to wither away my limited time on Earth.

Relationships were out of the question. The thought of even attempting filled me with terror. That would require a level of emotional availability that I could not offer. All I could do was watch others in envy as they seemingly so effortlessly found love. Some spiteful part of me took joy whenever I saw them break up. Why should they be happy? That could itself be evidence that I was unsuitable to be with anyone.

And my professional prospects were near non-existent. College was a crash and burn. My attempts at internships uneventful. Supplementary courses, such a waste of time. Writing for a living. I could only dream. That was my before.

No, all of that was before the before. I had friends. Ones based on more than just convenience. I was getting my degree. I was learning my craft.

Sharpening this mind for literary excellence. I even had a romance brewing. It more than likely wasn’t going to make it long term but it was something.

Then the world went into hibernation. I backslid. Long months in isolation leading to lethargy, and diurnal intoxication. The fling went long distance and then fizzled out. Friendships rebooted to factory settings. If you can maintain communication on social media you can keep up. I couldn’t. Not past the odd meme sent to one or two long time acquaintances.

My work turned to garbage. That first summer I was writing more than ever. I couldn’t go anywhere so why not I might as well get something out of this. And yet my skills were atrophying. So many stories sent in. So many rejections. Maybe I just wasn’t as good as I thought I was. For a time I just gave up.

It felt as though I had watched a spark of hope for myself and the world at large flicker and die. Never the most optimistic of individuals my work and my personality were built around a carefully crafted air of detached irony. Something which is very much no longer fun. I always thought that humanity would bring about its own downfall through sheer incompetence but I never expected it to quite this bad.

Okay I am very much tired of being right. Can it be over now? Please. Oh damn it they are going to make me wait another few decades aren’t they. And in that time I will be expected to shuffle around as though any of this meant anything. Well at least this stupid piece of paper gives me access to the amenities that I depend on to function.

Get back into that bar and see those idiots who voluntarily spend time with me. Maybe just maybe we can make something of the time we have left. See the big screen again and lose myself in better worlds just briefly. Maybe even back into that classroom and work off some of the rust.