When I’m not finishing the first draft of my novel or appealing to my favorite new designer Ella Emhoff to work on a collection of Kevlar-lined knitwear to protect citizens from gun violence (I’m thinking pullover garments for black and brown folkx to slip on while walking or driving or just generally living, given the high risk of police pulling firearms on them at all times; and for the general public who go to the store—or any public place, really—work in warehouses, factories, go to school, well, hell, just anyone who ever goes outside or stands near a window). Unfortunately, I don’t think kevlar cowls would help if you’re prone facedown with a policeman’s knee on your neck. Will keep thinking on that one. So I wonder if Ella is available to help, since there are a majority of politicians who will absolutely never even consider moving the needle on doing anything about the issue of guns (I include here a great article from opensecrets.org–source rated here nonpartisan–that features a list of congress and house members who are intransigent, immovable on gun control issues, many of whom were cold to 20 small children being executed in Sandy Hook, so, ya know, they’re not likely to listen to their better angels today. Those angels most likely filed for divorce decades ago. And while publishing those politicians names here and sending a steady stream of shame-on-you social media messages will have exactly zero, literally NO effect on their decision making, I suppose it makes me feel both useless and useful to try. So that was a long wander away from my original intention in this here space. The incomplete sentence above is: When I’m not [see above], I’ve been volunteering with Get Out the Shot: LA .

I’ve written about them before, but since a month+ has passed since I started, it’s dawned on me how I’ve gotten a view into—or rather made up, to some degree—the many&varied personalities living through and coming to terms with this pandemic. First off, the volunteers themselves are all fantabulous. I’ve only met them through tiny photos on the dedicated FB site we post to, or the occasional zoom call with regulatory updates, but the steady stream of helpful tips and reaching outs when help is needed has been a pillar as we all take on the calling of people who have left their names and numbers needing assistance to crack this often-confounding appointment system to get a vaccine. I’m not going to lie to you, when I first signed on I had visions of grandeur. I would be a part of a group who were serving the most underserved and shut out of the system. So it made complete sense that during my first call, the man on the other end—not underserved, very capable—commented on what a great concierge service GOTS was. Brought me right back down to earth. Because, as the administrators had pointed out, we’re not there to judge, and if the person was truly qualified, then help them, fer fux sake (they didn’t say that last bit, but the message remains). So I dialed again and met someone awesome on the other end. Someone who legit was qualified and stymied by the system. A man who had lived in NYC during the eighties and nineties like me, who’d worked with legendary photographer Albert Watson and at Cynthia Rowley‘s Soho boutique, a place I wandered past on the regular while salivating during the early nineties. He’s an illustrator and you can find his designs on these Adam’s Nest t-shirts. When the world opens back up, we’re having drinks. There was the woman living in Seattle whose 91-year-old mom lives in West Hollywood, who doesn’t drive and needed to get inoculated, and was baffled how that might happen given she was uncomfortable getting into a car service (too-risky & germy) and every single pharmacy within walking distance was either booked up or out of the vaccine. To make things more exciting, the daughter’s phone broke while we were figuring everything out. We managed to communicate the old-fashioned email way, found her mom an appointment, and one of our volunteers agreed to hazmat up and accompany her to the clinic, drive her home, then take her for her second dose. In the end, the sheriff’s department set up a door-to-door program and came right to her. This was such a great outcome and everyone nodded happily. The daughter was so relieved, she sent me a photo of a cute puppy (see Ernest Hemingway, above). Speaking of daughters, there was the man I called who asked me, not unkindly, “How did you get this number?” When I told him, he said, “Ah, that’s my daughter’s doing. She lives in France and wants me to come see the grandkids.” When I asked if he wanted to see the grandkids too, he said “YES, but they won’t let me out of the country til I get this shot.” So we set up the shot. And now, as soon as we can all travel again, he can hold his family.

And on that topic of relationships: The man who called and said the only days he couldn’t get the vaccination were Tuesdays and Thursdays because he played golf, then added he didn’t have a computer or cell phone and had made it into his seventies without them and didn’t intend to start now, so would I be so kind as to get him an appointment. Of course! Done. The next day my phone rang and a demure voice said, “My husband called yesterday and forgot to make me an appointment too.” Erps. She and I decided the ball was in her court regarding his communication skills, but I could absolutely get her one right alongside him. She was really averse to needles, had flinched every time the graphic of people getting the shot came on the news. Could we just find her a one&done situation? Of course. Done. But then her hubby, heard down the phone in the background, said, “I want that too.” So. Okay, let’s see. The stars aligned and they went in together. one. and. done. They sent a lovely thank-you card. The stars often align. For the woman who cried with relief that she could open her store back up fully vaccinated, the lady who would soon be able to visit her dad again, the waitress who could go to work without panic attacks, the post man who could stop being terrified, and the just plain relieved folks, including the mom who chalked up another surprise of the pandemic when her 17-year-old son actually wanted to get a needle stuck in his arm. All of it aces.

But also the heartbreakers and the frustrations: setting up an appointment for a woman, her husband, and son. They could only get off work on Saturdays. The one-shot J&J would work best for them. They were all scheduled together last Saturday when I got a text that she and he had come down with chills, fever, nausea and would have to cancel. (I’ve since checked in on them and they tested COVID positive, but I’m not letting them go.) Then J&J went on pause, and while, yes, there are doses of Pfizer and Moderna in fair supply, the issue of those who need the ease of just receiving one shot, whether for reasons of access, time, lifestyle, means another barrier to getting those who need it most vaccinated. Then there was the man who became my white whale, goldilocks. During his intake, he told me all about his tour(s) of Vietnam, his shame at watching the January 6th insurrection, his frustration with broken government systems. I made him an appointment(s). First one he walked away from because they weren’t offering the type of two-dose he wanted (Pfizer), second one he walked away from because there were too many people in line. But I would not be stopped. Set him up a third: small pharmacy, Pfizer, twenty-minutes from his house (just right, I thought). He didn’t even attempt to go to that one, saying it was too far away. That’s when I realized he was not interested in this working out and I had to let it go. And that was damn hard for me. But it was also good practice. Over the many, there have definitely been the few who treat the process similar to concierge-comment-man. Bringing their expectations to the party along with a large dose of entitled. So those I’m getting better at arming with information and stepping away. Sending them an aggregate website so they can do for themselves. (Here’s a good nationwide one, findashot.org, if anyone would like.)

And then the stories from other volunteers: One who set up appointments for a made-homeless-by-pandemic couple (you guys, THIS is another crisis. I won’t wander off here, but a good article on a Canadian man building small shelters for unhoused people). She managed to get their information before their cellphones died. She then printed out their appointment confirmations and drove to the neighborhood they’d said they were encamping and circled the blocks until she found a couple she thought was them. It was them. She gave them the printouts and crossed fingers that all would go well. It did. She got a confirmation from the pharmacy that they’d shown up. Mission accomplished. They got their one-shot. Now they need a home. Then the volunteer who helped a woman whose father had just arrived in the country. He had no viable ID but she was desperate to get him vaccinated. She worked with another volunteer who spoke fluent Spanish and who met him at a vaccination event and walked him through the process from beginning intake to end sit for 15 minutes. These are the stories that keep me coming back. As someone who would rather never use the phone, this instrument of information has kept both my mind and imagination going with the possibilities that we can do this. See the mess through and be there for each other. One long needle at a time.