Years ago, I declared being over updating my resume and all other such hoop jumping, which is why last week saw me doing that and so much more in search of gainful employment. With the new reality of near post-COVID-19, applying for a job means not only looking at online job listings, but maneuvering through their application process with the added hoop of taking their online assessment.

The nerd in me likes quizzes, especially the ones which challenge basic algebra/logic skills, along with reading comprehension, vocabulary, and how to answer customer concerns, but it was too much of a good thing in a short space of time. Also it didn’t help that I always chose to take the assessments in the evening, usually following the tedious application process.

If one successfully jumped through the application and assessment hoops, then comes the interview. For the first time ever, I had a Zoom call interview, along with a mock customer service interview where I read from a script, and finally two telephone interviews. Every interview option except for in-person. Most of the jobs were remote, the consequence of surviving a pandemic. Workplaces are no longer office-bound.

For shit and giggles, I jumped through the hoops for a “free” computer training class. Apparently, my pandemic-induced underemployment qualified me to apply. The application process for this class was far beyond any job application. I don’t know how a person with any physical/mental/housing/food/literacy/mathematical/logical/internet challenges could possibly fill out all the digital pages, upload the attachments, calculate their monthly budget and blah, blah, blah. The most vulnerable population have the largest bureaucratic hurdles to prove their needs.

Originally my commission statements weren’t acceptable because they needed pay stubs. Once I pointed out that I was a 1099 employee, they accepted the commission statements. Magic!

What turned out to be psychologically worst was the “letter of justification.” In other words, why should taxpayer money pay for me to take the class. I wrote the most awful essay I’ve ever written in my adult life. Of course everything was spelled and punctuated correctly. Beyond that, the essay did the bare minimum of answering the questions, some of which required me to look up three job titles and their associated entry level salary, along with three companies I could apply to. I agonized though that hoop as if it were a Herculean task.

After attaching all the digital documents to an email, I took the three-part assessment, which I thought was saving the best for last. I whipped through the vocabulary part. The reading comprehension section absolutely annoyed the hell out of me. As much as I love to read, those passages along with their vapid questions drained my soul. At least the assessment ended with math. By that time, my head hurt and my stomach growled, which dampened the joy of doing math.

After laboring through that assessment, I persuaded my roommate to make a food and booze run. It was nearly 10 PM. I sat there watching TV and illustrating on my iPad, feeling that both hemispheres of my brain had drifted very far apart.

No matter what, I’m not applying to shit for while. My last interview on the following Thursday will be the last interview for awhile. Seems unrealistic to say it’ll be the last one I’ll ever have in life, but one can dream.

I canceled the appointment for my second COVID-19 vaccination with Austin Public Health (APH). Not because of any hesitancy. I just didn’t want to lose any math tutoring money. After all, I only had 12 days of that gig. Besides, APH had scheduled the appointment for the middle of the week. I’d heard many reports of the effects of the second shot being worse than the first. So, the worst-case scenario would be missing part of my tutoring day and feeling ill during the next two days of tutoring.

Fortunately, I had Cinco de Mayo and the next day off. I prayed for APH to reschedule the appointment then. After canceling that appointment, I wanted to set up an alternative, but after reading the fine print, I discovered that anyone who was more than 28 days beyond their first vaccination, could just walk up to any APH site without an appointment.

It just so happened the following week APH announced people could walk in between 2-8 PM, Monday through Friday to get their second shot. So, I “celebrated” Cinco de Mayo 2021 by going to a job interview, then getting vaccinated.

And for once, the rumors were true: there was no waiting. Despite the holiday, there weren’t any tequila-based shots. As a matter of fact, the longest wait was when the dude typed in my information. After that, the woman administered the shot and I was off to wait for a few minutes in the library.

Very strange to be in a library, but not to browse or pick up a book. Instead, I kept my hands to myself and read articles on my phone until the requisite time passed. I didn’t experience any tingling feet nor low grade fever like the first time. Plus, I didn’t have to walk down a flight of stairs like I did the first time around. Bonus!

My roommate drove–just like after the first vaccination–but honestly, her driving scared me more than any vaccine reaction. She’s not a bad driver. I’m just used to my own driving…and breaking a little sooner than she does.

She drove us to Office Max to get our vaccination cards laminated. Another free perk. Since we were next door to a pharmacy, I bought myself a treat. Other people in different states received all types of perks to motivate them to get vaccinated. I sprung for my own treat.

Normally, I wouldn’t eat dessert for dinner, but that was the day to do it!

Normally, I wouldn’t eat dessert for dinner, but that was the day to do it! Hard to say if the bad feeling afterwards was the dessert or the vaccine. Yet if I needed more evidence of being middle aged, it’s paying dearly for a sugar rush.

From here on out, as society continues to reopen, I’ll be sure to brace myself. Funny though, most of the jobs I’ve applied to so far have been remote. It’s as if once conditions forced us home, management saw that many of us actually didn’t have to report to an office.

One thing I see in the near future is investing in a new work computer. I’ve just about squeezed out all I’ve could from my old one. Going forward, I’ll have to invest into a new money-making machine. And a pair of glasses. That’s the infrastructure update I’m going to make in society 2.0.

I’ve changed. More positive and sexy to say, “I’ve evolved.” Either way, I’m not quite ready to leave home, get out there, press palms, laugh out loud in a crowd of other people laughing out loud and swap germs like I used to do. Just seems more reckless than necessary. Especially when I’ve been underemployed for over a year. The best things in life may be free, but mingling still costs money.

I believe that as the world reopens fully, economic opportunities will as well. First I spoke that to the universe. Then I sent an email. To a tutoring entrepreneur, not the universe. In less than a week, I mad scrambled to onboard, filling out electronic documents and updating my technology to facilitate virtual tutoring.

As long as the TX electrical grid holds up, this will be a solid temporary full-time gig. By the time that gig ends, hopefully the other one I’ve been working on will be fully funded. In the meantime, I’ll work my long-time gig on the weekends. It’s been dying a slow death, but as long as I can make some money, it’s better than no money. Besides, I’m still able to read, write, and juggle creative projects while working customer service. Everything all from the convenience of home.

Who needs the outside world anyway? Far too many people who don’t believe in science or think this pandemic is a political hoax, which means they’re not taking basic precautions to protect themselves and others.

Better to remain sequestered while the world rages on. Even after getting my second shot, it won’t have the magical effect of remedying everything else that ails society.

After preregistering with two different agencies and waiting in a digital line for nearly an hour to make an appointment, I finally got my first Moderna shot at a wellness center.

Despite having a QR code in my confirmation email, the facility was “so small,” according to one of the employees, they didn’t have the equipment to scan the code. I was so tempted to point out that most smart phones had the capability to read a QR code with the camera function. Instead, I complied with their request to fill out paperwork on the germy clipboard with one of their germy pens. So much for contactless interactions.

I followed the taped blue arrows up the stairs, down the hall, around the corner and into a workout room, where four desk stations faced the wall-length mirror. Once seated beside one of the desks, I told the health care worker that since my mother had received her vaccination shot at a sports bar, I’d originally wanted my shot at a strip club. He suggested I set that up for my second shot. Then he mentioned that perhaps one of the other male health care workers would strip if I gave them a dollar. As if I had any money on me. Not even a dollar for a male stripper.

We laughed, but I offered to help him with a stripper name, using the tried and true formulation: childhood pet’s name and the street where he grew up. He had two choices for childhood pet names: Ashley or Freckles. “Of course, it has to be “Freckles,” I assured him. Since he grew up on Alabama Street, I got my first jab from “Freckles Alabama.”

Following another set of blue taped arrows to the observation room, which was a more convoluted path than getting to the vaccination room, I entered a space with subdued light. As the medic had instructed, I set my phone timer to 15 minutes. I read articles on my phone until the timer sounded. When I stood up to leave, my hands tingled. Maybe I had a slight fever, but I was definitely thirsty. I usually drink water throughout the day, but this sensation made me feel as if I hadn’t had any all day.

After all that, I walked down two flights of stairs, which seemed dangerous after receiving a vaccine that could potentially make someone dizzy. Unnecessarily, an employee bid me a “be careful,” as I pushed the glass door open to descend. Fortunately, I made it downstairs and to my car without incident, where my roommate waited to whisk me away. Ever since one of my cousins fainted at the wheel after getting her vaccine and awoke after hitting a utility pole, the rest of the family has made sure someone else drives us home.

I felt a little loopy, but not bad enough to avoid work. I drank far more water than usual while working my customer service job from home. I lasted about two hours before logging off for the day to eat dinner. Just to switch things up, I had a glass of coconut water instead of wine because of that slight fever. The vaccine worked its magic and got my immune system as COVID-resistant as possible.

As luck would have it, one of the latest streaming movies dropped on the same day I was vaccinated. “Godzilla vs. Kong”? Sure, why not? That was just what the situation called for in my loopy state: a non cerebral, CGI, action-filled movie where I could just strap in and enjoy the ride. It didn’t disappoint.

The vaccination discomfort didn’t prevent me from falling asleep. I partially woke up when I rolled onto the injection site. Other than that, I woke up feeling pretty good.

Originally, I was going to wait 48 hours before drinking wine, but I no longer felt feverish the next day. Except for soreness in my jabbed arm, everything felt back to normal. Even holding planks and doing other arm workouts during my virtual Inferno Hot Pilates class were no problem. So, I did my usual detox-retox routine, which consists of exercising in the middle of the day followed by lunch with a glass of wine.

After getting my second jab at the end of April, I’ll see how adventurous I can be while still braving this new world.

There was never a doubt in my mind that I’d get the vaccine. I had no hesitation like my mother who feared it would make her sick like the time she got the flu shot. Different virus, different vaccine. Or my sister who feared the historical systemic racism within the medical community against Black people. Times have changed. Now they’re being racist by making it harder for Black people to get the vaccine, not fucking with the vaccine itself. Or the conspiracy theory that Bill Gates put microchips in the vaccines. Billionaires don’t need to chip us to track us. They do that through our phones and as a back up, our social media accounts.

With the first vaccination provider I pre-registered with, they warned me several times that I wasn’t actually making an appointment because they needed to check out my “status” to see if I qualified to make an appointment. My only qualification was being 50. Next, I got an email, which I forgot about, stating that I could make an appointment. By the time I got around to clicking on it around 6 PM, I discovered that I was number 1100 and something in the digital line. When my “number” came up, I’d have ten minutes to make an appointment. I said, fuck this, logged out and tried again the next morning.

That was the wrong move. There weren’t anymore appointments available for the week. I tried again the following Monday. No appointments. Try again next Monday, the message read. Then I learned that I somehow missed out on a batch of appointments because I was waiting for Monday.

In the course of a textchain with my creativity group about COVID vaccinations, I shared my experience with them. One took pity on me and texted a link for yet another place where I could preregister. I preregistered at the second place. Days passed and no word. Perhaps on some magical Monday, which never seems to come.

In the meantime, when I did the weekly check-in with Mom, she told me about getting her second vaccine shot. No bad side effects at all, just like the first shot. I learned a gem of fact when I asked her at which facility she’d received her shots. She described the place as where people watch sports and then they serve some drinks and food…

“Wait, you were vaccinated at a sports bar?!”

“Well, they’re not open for business. Just for vaccinations right now.”

I didn’t care. Previously, I’d wanted to get my shot at a veterinarian place, but now that seems too tame. If my 80 year old mother was vaccinated at a sports bar, then I want to be vaccinated at a strip club. Most people waste their time longing to choose which vaccine they’re going to get. Not me. I want to choose the place. I want such a racy place that my COVID vaccine story tops everyone else’s.

I’m not taking unnecessary risks, so the only thing that’ll spice up my COVID quarantine war story is where I get my shot. I’m not even in the mood to dress in costume when I receive it. So unlike me. About half my closet is costumes yet I’m not even planning a vaccination costume for this occasion. Perhaps once I confirm an appointment and location, I’ll be inspired.