I had a lot of anxiety getting my first dose of the COVID vaccine today. 

It wasn’t about the effects or anything based in conspiracy theories, but if I was doing everything correctly: will I get there too early? Do I have all of my paperwork? Will they not let me in because I accidentally used my personal e-mail address and not my work address? 

Everything in the past year was, in a way, building up to this moment. And as much as I was ready, I also felt unprepared for what was to be a momentous occasion. 

And it happened fast.

Yesterday, I received an e-mail from my employer that Kalamazoo County was beginning to offer COVID vaccines for Phase 1A or 1B — including agriculture and food production. In my case, it’s brewing beer.

Within 5 minutes, I had an appointment scheduled for 11:50 a.m. the next day. I couldn’t focus the rest of the day: The excitement from late last year was becoming very real for me. 

I woke up at 3:30 a.m. this morning and couldn’t get back to sleep. I felt like a kid waking up on Christmas morning. As I began the workday, my team and I were Slacking and texting: our excitement, reports from people who had gotten theirs already.

My mom sent me a post from a friend that there was a line of cars to get in, so I left my apartment an hour early. When I and there was a line of cars coming out of the Expo Center. It moved fast. The cars split into two lines and some Sherriff’s deputies asked what time my appointment was: 11:50 a.m. They motioned me on.

The parking lot was about 85% full more than any County Fair I’ve ever attended. As I pulled in, I saw coworkers’ cars for the first time since we all left the office almost a year ago.

I sat in my car: it was 11:10, 30 minutes before my scheduled appointment. A friend from work came up to my car. I got out. She pointed to the line, which stretched a hundred people long. We went to get our spot.

In line, we saw more coworkers. It was a double jubilation: we just as happy to see each other as we were to be getting the vaccine. Bell’s Brewery is a social company — a lot of that comes from drinking our beer together. It had been almost as a year since we had had seen each other in person like this.

In line, we asked each other what time out appointments were. They were at 11:40. Am I too early? What will they say?

The line moved quickly. The greeters at the door asked if we were feeling OK, if we had to quarantine recently or had exposures. No, no and no. Come on in.

Through the entrance of the Expo Center, we walked into a convention room to the right. Outside the door was a piece of paper taped onto a stand: “Today we are providing Pfizer Vaccine.” There were some silent fist pumps. Produced just 5 miles (8.05 km) south in neighboring Portage, it was the strongest “Shop Local” vibe I’ve ever felt.

Inside the hall, we fell into a line that wrapped around itself, but unlike waiting for a TSA screening, this one moved so fast we could just wave and say hi to other coworkers we saw.

At the end of the line was a table with about 12 healthcare workers to check us in. I had all the documentation needed, but they didn’t ask for most of it: Just my name, ID, and appointment time. They gave us a two-sided piece of paper to fill out, and from there we went into area 2 — a room full of tables where we filled it out. 

Filling out the paperwork, there was a rush of energy — this is really happening but also that anxiety — what if I fill in something wrong? Questions I’ve answered throughout my life suddenly seemed more serious than ever: What are my allergies? Am I using my full legal name? Take your time, read through the questions.

Area 3 was another row of tables, with lines forming in front of each seated health care worker. There were stickers on the floor to keep is socially distanced. As I moved up in line, I heard someone call my name. I turned around: it was a college professor I had many classes with at Western Michigan University. We have run into each other in the strangest of places: on airplanes, in airports and now the vaccine line. We chatted and someone next to me said matter-of-factly: “she’s ready for you.”

I awkwardly waved and went up: this was not a time for small talk. People were moving through, quickly. It felt like a scene from Ellis Island in a movie: hundreds of people moving through and organized system.

The nurse asked me about my allergies and told me they would keep an extra eye on me after the shot. She looked over my paperwork and said I needed to fill out the date. What day is it? March 9th, 2021. I’ll remember this one.

From there, Area 4 was where the vaccine was administered. As I walked up, I saw more coworkers in line and seated, receiving the vaccine. I wanted to grab pictures to document it and, even though there were no signs and nothing was said about photography, I know my HIPA.

I stood in line and then was moved to one of the smaller lines in front of the nurses station. At each one was a nurse, an aide and another person behind them. I sat down. She asked: what arm would you like it in? Either! There was a pause. The left one is fine. She asked me a series of questions and told me to drink a lot of water and take Tylenol. She asked if I worked for Bell’s, then told me how much she loves Two Hearted and misses live concerts. 

“Well,” she said, “I guess we’re helping get one step closer to them coming back.”

She poked me and in what felt like an instant the vaccine was in me. It felt somewhat anticlimactic, but more than anything, I wanted to buy her and every other kind person working a Two Hearted.

I got up and followed the signs and lines to the next stage: Area 5, where we wait. But first, I had to schedule my second shot. The line moved quickly again, and I went to a health care worker in front of a computer. I handed her my card and she said: we have openings on April 1.

April 1? That’s Opening Day for baseball. I have plans. I might be going to a game. Doesn’t matter. What time? Appointment booked.

I went to go sit down, and I saw a dozen other coworkers sitting and talking, everyone elated and happy to see each other. It had been a hard year for many of us, and a long time since we had seen each other. 

One of the greatest things about working at Bell’s is going down to the pub after work to grab beers and the serendipity of bumping into different people and talking. I’ve seldom ever had a plan going down there: I always knew there would be folks to hang out with. 

While the medicine was beginning to do it’s work, seeing each other, we had a very real sense of the times we would be able to spend with each other again, being surprised and delighted seeing each other getting our vaccines.