So here’s how it goes down. This is how we Submit.
We start by showering and getting ready way too early in the morning, earlier than we are accustomed to because we haven’t done it in over a year of working from home. We endure a rushed last minute preparation checklist: appointment time, QR code, door-to-door directions, route the traffic flow and leave 1.5 hours before appointment time. No one wants to be racing around to make a vaccination appointment at a place you’re not familiar with. For most normal people, getting a COVID-19 jab is a stressful affair, even for the most Woke science-fearing of them. The last thing you need is to be running around looking for parking and the secluded vaccination zone.
This is how Submission goes down.
We do it because we can’t not.
You stand in line like cattle on the way to slaughter, or concentration camp survivors on the way to freedom; that is up to your perspective.
The line moves well, a system is in place and this is a FEMA center so you get to do a “medical background” introductory sit-down with someone in military fatigues and, in fact, people in military fatigues are all around here. They are pleasant and helpful and friendly, so it’s not like you’re really in enemy territory, but the optics and overall vibe involved in getting this strange unapproved vaccination while surrounded by soldiers is the stuff of Q-tard and other miscellaneous conspiratard fever dreams.
Once you’ve declared you are not sick or have a fever and given verbal assent to having these people inject with you with the emergency genomic hack that shall save millions of lives and billions of dollars in lost revenue, and supplied proof that you’re eligible for the shot in your own special way, you receive a verification and a nice wrist band. After all, this ordeal is about keeping the rich people rich by minimizing the interruption to the golden revenue stream.
Wristband on, you are pointed in the direction of a numbered privacy wall where a technician awaits, syringe poised to render you immuno-supreme above those pesky little viral particles.
You sit one more time, and wait. If you’re the stressful sort, the paranoid sort, all this waiting is hell on earth. It’s a slow death march in which you helplessly watch your fading liberties flicker weakly as they are relinquished to the global elites. Every step is excruciating. While you waiting for the jab, you notice all the “no media” warnings, all the orders to not take photos or movies. The ambulances, poised, backed-in, ready to haul your ass away if something goes south quickly, the medics who patrol the final “waiting area,” even the police cars waiting for troublesome interlopers in the parking lot.
Finally, the moment arrives.
The technician waves and you go sit. She asks which arm. This is your your lone token contribution at autonomy: you get to choose which arm that needle pokes. Most people, fearful of sore arm chronicles they’ve heard, say their left so as to not hamper their grip tomorrow.
Fuck it. Go big or don’t go. The right, I answer. I’m right-handed but this is me not caring.
She preps your upper arm with a sharp rubbing alcohol-ish solution and the prick is mercifully short. The RNA which calls an Adenovirus its home begins an immediate journey through your bloodstream and such a thought is a little disconcerting, but whatever. The injection solution contains several ingredients which may have a very immediately detrimental effect on your physiology, dramatically so, and the lady who injected you also writes a time on your wristband which tells you the moment you can finally leave because first you need to sit in a chair and monitor yourself. And since people are terrible self-monitors of physical well-being, there is also a medic strolling up and down looking out for any visible but unrecognized distress. Sometimes your physical meltdown just slips right by you, ya know? A sign in front which you can’t help but look at over and over lists some normie, I mean normal, side effects.
FYI for the next few days.
Chills, fever, headache, tiredness, nausea…stuff. Your body is fighting off an invader so its reacting as advertised. A natural defense mechanism, but none of this is natural.
You dash away, liberated, ready to again become a consuming member of society. If you’re the annoying type of person, you flood the social countryside with shameless vaccine porn and virtue signaling.
Oh, but keep that mask on.