As I waited in line with my child, I cautiously stole glances at the other people here. Some looked perfectly healthy, and some were pale and tired.
There was no guarantee that once we got to the front of the line that we would be able to proceed. It seemed as if there had been a miscalculation and not everyone would get through. I wondered if they would come pick the lethargic ones out of the crowd and move them to the front. Afterall, they seemed to need this more than us.
I could have waited for this, or done without it entirely. However, I had to think of my child. It was for her that we were here. No line was too long for her.
My back straightened and I held my breath at every sneeze, cough and raspy intake of breath. Certainly the military precision of the employees could have afforded a moment to pass out surgical masks, especially in this environment. I stifled my reflex to cover my baby's face. She smiled up at me and I reassuredly squeezed her shoulder. "It won't be long now." I whispered. She nodded and leaned closer to me. Loud, firm voices directed the lines and kept order amongst the masses.
Just last week there had been a flu clinic at the auditorium and the line had snaked around the building and down the street. Then this week the middle school had held a clinic in the gym. We had attended neither.
We finally reached the front of our line, the nice young man in the crisp uniform held out his hand for our paperwork and as I handed him our "New Moon" tickets, I fervently hoped that the rest of these idiots had gotten their shots, 'cause not only did I have to suffer through this ridiculous movie, I really didn't want to end up with the stupid flu.
Smiles from the (Mom of the Year) farm,