The Navy loves playing voodoo with little needles. Not to brag or anything, but you be reading the blogpost of a Sailor recently inoculated against both typhoid fever and whooping cough! Yes, you can touch your screen. And you don’t have to worry about getting the dread typhoid. No promises about other sordid diseases, like Kuru.
So ten of us sit waiting around to see the HMs, corpse-like-men for you non-Navy folks. For an overseas screening. And an Ensign who looks Methuselah himself wanders into the waiting room. I love Limited Duty Officers. They are prior enlisted folks, with eight to sixteen years in. And this guy had a rack, this kind of rack, that would put a bashful war hero to shame. If I worked with him, I would have enjoyed calling him Ensign. They hate that. Even though they are. Ensigns.
I stand up and try to game the system by picking a number from the little red number thingy. (Like the butchah or deli’s got.) The number would have gotten me a place in the shot line. But there is no tape in there. I pull open the device, but there is no paper inside! Two SEALs are enjoying the process and one shrugs at me with a smirk. Apparently, I am not as tricky as I thought. The SEALs went in hot before me. And already gathered the bad-news intel.
I go over and tell the Third Class, a six-foot female with a heavy Russian accent. That her number machine is on the fritz. And she tells me nicely that the shot tech hides the paper when she goes out to lunch. Wow, what smarties in this operation!
Minutes pass. And I finally see her, the shot tech. And I trot off and get both inoculations. One in each side. Right and left. And as I get the shots, my shot tech counsels a young nurse on how to get a Navy wife (also with a thick accent, but glamour Czech-ish) out of her shots. Just tell her to tell you she is planning on getting pregnant in three months. So the junior nurse ambles off and I hear nervous laughter from the room next to mine. Except the tittering is from a fellow El Tee, an aviator all Top Gunned out in his flight suit. His wife, on the other hand, sounds gleeful. Better get ready for baby Vladimir there, Maverick! Who knew getting shots was so much fun?
Um, Shipmate (I’ve seen her many times, so we are sort of pals. She is a prior enlisted, Filipina HM. Also, a grandmother and now a civilian. But I do call her Shipmate. It’s fun, try it sometime!) Yeah, I’m not married.
Oh? (And she gets that gleam in her eye.) I know a special girl in the Philippines for you.
Ha ha! I laugh. Thanks. You are a Shipmate. I’ll be okay.
I finally leave medical. In good spirits. I’ll havta head back when I need a chuckle. I start my car up and some band named Cayucas, singing High School Lover, comes on XM. Hipster music! But good music. Of course, my veins are cursing (you @&!* *&@#$!) with typhoid and whooping cough. I could be delirious. Cough cough. . .