Vaccine dreams | Lisa Scottoline

The good news is there’s a vaccine.

The bad news is there’s vaccine drama.

Let’s begin with the fact that at my age, I’m eligible to get a vaccine.

But, of course, it’s impossible to get a vaccine.

I call phone numbers that nobody answers.

I fill out forms that nobody replies to.

I send emails that bounce back.

I hit refresh like a slot machine.

Which, in a way, it is.

Trying to get a vaccine is full-time job.

I watch reports from the CDC on television, for which I’m very grateful.

Unfortunately, I don’t live in the state of CDC.

I live in Pennsylvania.

And I heard that we’re 49th out of 50 states in getting vaccines.

By the way, I don’t know if that’s reliable information.

I don’t traffic in reliable information.

I traffic in what I heard.

I call this heard mentality.

Not heard immunity.

I heard that the county next door has vaccines, but you can get a vaccine only if you live or work there.

I’m going apartment shopping.

I heard that one Big Medical System has vaccines, but The Other Big Medical System doesn’t.

I’m going doctor shopping.

I heard that people I know are starting to get the vaccine.

And I’m jealous.

I have vaccine jealousy.

My other unvaccinated friends feel the same way.

We’re jealous and it’s consuming our unvaccinated lives.

Or what’s left of them.

We collect stories of people who got the vaccine but aren’t eligible, or frontline workers, or anything of the sort, etc., etc., etc.

We are all Nancy Drew.

We spend our time sleuthing out how they got the vaccine, where they got it, and what color sweater they were wearing at the time.

Soon we’ll get fingerprint kits.

And we’re vaccine gossips.

We talk about how this, that, or the other one got a vaccine because they’re somebody’s cousin, wife, or dog.

We used to gossip about sex.

Now we gossip about vaccines.

So you know we’re 65.

The other day we were talking about whether we would tell anyone if we got the vaccine.

We all agreed we wouldn’t.

It’s like winning the lottery.

Keep it to yourself or get kidnapped.

We don’t want people gossiping about us.

Like we gossip about them.

It’s the gossip golden rule.

Because let’s be real:

It goes without saying that a lot of people getting the vaccine aren’t as nice as I am.

In fact, a lot of people getting the vaccine are jerks.

This doesn’t bode well for the future of nice people.

We will all die off, and the only ones left will be jerks.

It won’t be a world you want to live in.

The perfect case in point is Dolly Parton, whom I adore.

Did you know that she has given away 100 million books to children?

So that makes her a saint.

Then I read that Dolly Parton doesn’t want to get the vaccine, even though she is eligible, because she considers that skipping the line.

Now I know what to do.

I want to give my vaccine to Dolly Parton.

I don’t want to live in a world without Dolly Parton.

Unfortunately, the vaccine is not transferable.

The only thing worse than vaccine jealousy is vaccine guilt.

Because I’m in the eligible age group, but Daughter Francesca isn’t. So I’ll get the vaccine before she does.

What mother wants that?

I feel guilty already.

This is me, thinking ahead.

I like to plan my guilt.

And now we have variants to contend with.

Every day it seems like there’s a new variant.

I guess that’s the point of a variant.

But really, enough already, COVID.

Some people just don’t know when to stop.

So here’s where I come down:

If you got the vaccine, great.

If you’re a nice person.

If you’re not a nice person, become one.

Change your ways.

Straighten up and fly right.

And take care of Dolly Parton.

Look for Lisa’s first historical novel, “Eternal,” coming on March 23. Also look for Francesca’s debut novel, “Ghosts of Harvard,” on sale now.