Yesterday, on my way home from work, I stopped at the pharmacy to pick up my Pristiq, and found that last month's mammography misadventures had whittled down my deductible to the point that my feelings pills cost less than I'd expected. WHOO TITS! In celebration, and because I saw a sign advertising that most insurances now covered them at 100% (thank you once again, Mr. President), I decided to treat myself to a flu shot. Because I pick up used napkins for a living and work with a lot of people who can't afford to miss a shift just because they're sick (it's not unusual for someone to be standing next to you waiting for bar drinks telling you "...and then they listened to my chest and said it was pneumonia, and the x-ray they made me get almost made me late for work!" while sweating bullets and shivering, and you look at them and go "yeah well, I'm peeing blood," and then you do a really sad fist-bump and you both wash your hands), plus I have a strict "herd immunity" policy in our house for Hotter's sake.
As I filled out the paperwork, the pharmacist asked if I'd like the shot in my right arm or my left arm. I usually don't get very sore from flu shots, but thought for a moment, and since my left arm is the one I carry trays with (I'm right-handed, but for some reason I can only balance a full tray of beers on my left) I chose to get the shot on my right, just in case.
The pharmacist saw that I was wearing an Oxford shirt and tie, told me she needed access to my bare upper arm, and started to fuss with a privacy-screen thing. "Nah, we're good," I told her, "I have another shirt underneath this one," and I quickly loosened my tie, unbuttoned down to my t-shirt, and pulled my right arm out of the outer sleeve. "Oh! I'll um, avoid sticking you anywhere there's ink," said the pharmacist, looking flustered. "I'll just go like, right in the middle of the star." Which she did, and reader I think she hit a fucking nerve because it felt like she'd stuck me with a live wire. It was probably a seven on the infamous 1-10 scale, and I kept a straight face and said thanks and went about my business, but this morning it feels like I was hit in the upper arm with a sledgehammer.
Also, I have yet to discover my savant superpower from the autism Jenny McCarthy promised me via the media.
Worst. Flu shot. Ever.
P.S. While I am very displeased with the current state of my right arm, I think my tattoo just kind of threw the pharmacist off her game as she gave me the shot. I don't think they're used to having to look closely while they jab, and if you don't have a big tattoo on your upper arm this is unlikely to happen to you. Please get a flu shot--the babies, old folks, and immune-suppressed people you encounter will thank you, plus hopefully you either won't get the flu or will be much less sick from it if you do. Win-win!