By Ann Calandro
I’ve been clicking on different vaccine sites for days, trying to find an appointment. That’s what everyone I know is doing. Everyone is asking, “Did you get a vaccine? Do you have an appointment? Are you going to get vaccinated?”
“No, no, and I’m trying,” I say. I’ve bookmarked sites and created a spreadsheet with zip codes to make my search more efficient. I registered on one site but haven’t heard back. I e-mailed another but haven’t heard back from that site either. My pharmacist says the expected shipment hasn’t arrived. My doctor says he doesn’t know if his practice will receive a vaccine shipment, or when they might receive it, or which vaccine it would include.
My dentist’s receptionist told me to check Twitter and Facebook.
“My husband found an appointment that way, but he had to drive 50 miles in less than 30 minutes to get to it right away,” she said.
I’m not on Facebook. I’m not on Twitter. I can’t drive 50 miles in less than 30 minutes and arrive in one piece. I lack the insouciance and the eyesight to go that fast.
But yesterday, as I was marching through my choreographed clicks toward the beacon of an appointment, something wonderful happened. I saw an opening at a supermarket pharmacy 40 miles away. I clicked on it so hard my coffee cup jumped and spilled its contents. (Luckily, the coffee was cold, since I had been clicking for more than an hour.) I received a confirmation e-mail right away, telling me that I had an appointment at 1:45 pm on Thursday and to complete the online registration form within two hours.
I stared at the e-mail and was suffused with happiness. At first, I thought I was having a major hot flash, but then I realized I was feeling something I hadn’t felt in a long time: happiness. Happiness! I missed feeling happy. I read the confirmation e-mail again. It said the same thing. I rubbed my eyes. I read it again. It said the same thing. Just to make sure, I read it out loud to myself. It sounded so soothing, so positive, and so reassuring.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” I sang to it. I began to fill out the online registration form. I was halfway through it when I received a second e-mail from the pharmacy, canceling my appointment. I stopped typing. What had happened? I called the number given in the cancellation e-mail.
“What happened?” I asked the woman who answered. “I had an appointment! I have the confirmation e-mail right here!”
“Our computer system is messed up right now,” she said. “It’s making appointments that really aren’t open. The tech people are working on it. Give it an hour and try again. There may be appointments then. If not, keep trying. Try very early, maybe at 5 am, or very late, like midnight. Try other locations of our supermarkets, too.” She listed a few locations. “I’m sorry you received this appointment in error,” she said.
“I was just so happy when I received the first e-mail,” I said. “For a few moments, I had an appointment. I felt so happy.”
“I’m sorry,” she repeated. “I’m so sorry.”
“I am too,” I said. We said good-bye.
This happened last week. I saved that confirmation e-mail and printed it out. I’m still searching for an appointment. When I get too sad or too overwhelmed or my eyes start burning from too much screen time, I close my computer for a little while and read the printout of my confirmation e-mail, and when I read it, I am happy again. For those few minutes, I am happy. I have an appointment.
Editor’s note: Ann Calandro is pleased to report that after submitting this essay, she received a leftover vaccine dose from a pharmacy and will soon receive her second dose. She switched from clicking to calling to secure a spot on the waiting list.