I was a bit apprehensive when I found out I was getting the vaccine. Shots don’t scare me, but the side effects are a worry. With all this brand new vaccine technology, I worried that after the shot, my left arm would fall off.

As instructed, I showed up at our local Seniors Center exactly 15 minutes before my appointment. Confidently, I marched up the stairs to the first check in stop, where some nice women were sitting. I knew they were nice because they had on those orange jackets that road crews wear. Any woman brave enough to wear one of those must have a great attitude because no matter your lipstick color, it will never blend with neon.

I smiled and asked, “Is this where I get my shot? And more importantly, will it make my arm fall off?” The assured me they hadn’t lost a limb yet.

The nice ladies sent me to my next stop where a competent young man armed with a laptop asked my name just to make sure I wasn’t the Dry Ice Bandit here to steal up all the available vaccine.

The next stop was inside the building where I was greeted by a woman who had many probing questions to ask me. She said, “Stop me if you’ve had any of these in the last ten days.”

A high fever.

Cold and chills.

Lost of smell or taste.

An order from Amazon that you needed to return, and they told you to just keep it?

Shortness of Breath.

A high fever.

A full-service carwash. You know the kind where they clean out the inside, too?

Your left arm has fallen off.

I just kept quiet because I knew she was onto me.

After I passed her test, it was Showtime!

Then I was escorted to a card table with a nice lady who filled out more paperwork for me. She read me all my rights and made me agree to share all my personal information with the World Health Organization to solve the pandemic for all nations or something like that. I agreed and then asked her if my arm would fall off.

She just laughed and said, “I see we could use you for mental illness research as well!”

Then I was herded over to the actual nurse who gives the shot. She was a pleasant lady who made me feel at ease. She queried, “Which arm would you like your shot?” Since I’m right-handed, I figured I could get along without the left arm. I decided, “The left one. I’m just worried it might fall off.” She laughed and said, “Feeling lucky, are you?”

Once the damage was done, she sent me to sit in a chair in the middle of the room with the other old people in sort of a “You’re in Seniors Timeout. You must sit here and wait 15 minutes to make sure your left arm does not fall off.”

When my Timeout was up, I sprinted for the door. It led me right back outside to the nice ladies I met first. I told them I was all done, and I really appreciated everyone’s professionalism. Then I waved goodbye and you know what happened?

My left arm fell off which means I’m all right now!

(Editor’s note: As far as we can tell, Mikie still has two arms. I mean, how else could she have written this column? She might have had to pop a couple of Motrin, but she’ll be alright physically, though we’re never sure about her mental state.)