Nurse the Hate: Vaccine Side Effect

 

There was no doubt about it.  The long awaited plague vaccine had a side effect.  It had started the first morning after the injection.  He had laid in bed, in those brief moments of taking stock and reminding himself of who he was and of his particular circumstance.  Even before he had placed himself home in bed on a Tuesday morning, it started.  “Ja-ja-ja jitterbug…. Ja-ja-ja jitterbug”. The song “Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go” by Wham filled his head with perfect clarity and crisp volume.  He put on his pants, and struggled into a t-shirt to go downstairs to start his morning routine.  “Wake me up before you go-go!  Don’t leave me hanging on like a yo-yo!” blared in his head as he went down the stairs.  The triumphant horn section filled his ears as he poured water into the coffee machine.  He took out his box of Total (Now with MORE fiber!) as the song concluded.  He poured the cereal.  The satisfying sound of the flakes hitting the bowl became interrupted.  “Ja-ja-ja jitterbug!  Ja-ja-ja-Jitterbug!”  The song started over.

The song continued to cycle through his head.  The more he tried to stop thinking about it, the more it moved to the forefront of his mind.  He called his doctor’s office.  “We are experiencing an unusual call volume.  You have a wait time of (pause) seventeen minutes.”  He held the phone to his ear as the anonymous cool jazz of the hold music competed with the upbeat sounds of the Wham 1980s hit.  “Hello.  This is the Cleveland Clinic.  My name is Tonya.  How can I help you today?”  He began to try to explain the situation, which only confused Tonya.  “So sir… you keep listening to Wham?  Can’t you turn off your radio?”  Tonya!  It’s in my head!  I can’t make it stop!  It started after my vaccine dose!  “OK… what is your date of birth?”  He spent the next several minutes providing Tonya his full data.  “OK Sir… I am going to transfer you to your doctor’s at call station.  Please hold.”  Wake me up before you go-go, don’t leave me hanging on like a yo-yo…”

He waited for twelve minutes picturing the happy dancing members of Wham from the 1985 video dreading the song’s end as it would only result in “Ja-ja-ja jitterbug…. Ja-ja-ja jitterbug”.  Finally a new voice entered his phone.  “Hello this is the Cleveland Clinic internal nurse station of the Avon Medical Center and my name is Kathy how can I help you?”   It all sounded like one hurried sentence.  He began to explain again.  OK… I got the vaccine yesterday and I woke up this morning and Wham’s “Wake Me Up Before You Go Go” keeps playing in my head.  “OK, and what is your birthday?”  He repeated all of his demographic data once again in excruciating detail to Kathy.  “And do you have a fever?”  This was when he began to break.  “Ja=ja-ja-jitterbug…”. No.  I have fucking Wham playing in my head!  “Sir!  Sir, there is no need for profanity.  I am trying to get your information so the doctor can help you.  Now…. Do you have any allergies to any medication?”  WAKE ME UP BEFORE YOU GO GO DON’T LEAVE ME HANGING ON LIKE A YO-YO!  No Kathy… I don’t but I do have Wham playing relentlessly in my head and I think I’m losing my fucking mind thanks to that fucking vaccine!  “I understand sir.  Let me see if the doctor can get back to you via my chart email.  She is on rounds right now, but can probably get back to you by this time tomorrow.  Have you registered for my chart?  You’ll need to remember your PIN from when we set up your account in 1998 or you’ll have to reach the home office to delete your old account and set up a new one after transferring your old data to the new account via secure Dropbox.  Go to the patient resource center on the website and input your patient number and complete insurance information.”  Ja-ja-ja-jitterbug!  

He hung up the phone.  The horn section blared.  He tried to forget the song was repeating but the second he noticed that he had almost forgotten about it, it became prominent once again.  He spent the morning going from screen to screen on the doctor’s office website.  His laptop binged.  An email.  The doctor sent him an attached document from Phyzotec, the company that had been celebrated by hurriedly making a vaccine.  “It has come to our attention that a possible side effect of the first shot is that a very small percentage of patients (.003%) may experience a ringing sensation in their ears or the sensation of hearing British pop supergroup Wham for 14-21 days.  This will be replaced on the second dose for some patients with a slight rash or former Eagle member Glenn Frey’s “The Heat Is On” resonating in their ears for a minimum of 28-36 days.  It should be noted that this does not impact many of the positive effects of the vaccine in most patients.”

The doctor had penned a quick personal note.  “I have had a few patients with this side effect.  Nothing to worry about.  Most of them forget it is even there.  I am going to prescribe some Alloxicane for you, which will take the volume of the music in your head down a bit.  You’ll experience a pretty hefty amount of rectal bleeding for the first week, but it will help alleviate some of the volume.  If you find out that after the second shot you get “The Heat Is On” auditory infection, we will put you on a cocktail of drugs that has shown 20% effectiveness.  I see you are scheduled for the 6th to get the second injection, so let me know if you need that prescription the next morning.  Obviously if you miss that second injection appointment you’ll put yourself at risk for optical mucous syndrome and scalp warts, so make sure and keep in the 12 hour injection window.  Dr. Winstrom.”

He closed the email window.  “Ja-ja-ja Jitterbug!  Ja-ja-ja-Jitterbug!”  It would be a long three weeks but he figured if he could do Wham then the Glenn Frey phase was a breeze.  Plus a little heavy rectal bleeding wasn’t too bad since he was working from home and hadn’t seen another human being in a year anyway.  It was a New Age of Science.  Man had at last triumphed over nature.  He clicked on the Walgreens Pharmacy to get his Alloxicane prescription.  He clicked his way through to confirm the order for the drug.  A 14 page document loaded onto his screen.  “Have you read the drug information document and fully understand the contents and agree to waive all potential legal action against Phyzotec.”  WAKE ME UP BEFORE YOU GO GO!  He clicked “yes” without reading the document.  Soon his alloxicane would arrive and his troubles would be over.  Ja-ja-ja jitterbug…. Ja-ja-ja-jitterbug.   

Nurse the Hate: My Vision For the New Cleveland Indians Team Name

 

During these unprecedented times has there been a greater loss to our collective sense of community than the loss of Opening Day?  Nothing says "Spring in Ohio" like 40,000 people drunk as shit downtown not paying attention to a baseball game while they shiver in the cold.  The first sign of Spring is not the first tulip struggling to break the soil, but rather a drunk suburban Dad in facepaint and a homemade headdress talking shit to an American Indian protester.  Seriously, who does that Native American think he is to suggest a smiling Sambo type cartoon negatively portrays his heritage?  How selfish can one person be to complain about this when, goddammit, I grew up with that logo!  My Dad and I went to games together and now you want to take that away?  What next?  You want to let women vote?  This cancel culture has gone too far.

I will admit, I have enjoyed watching the Indians organization do their increasingly awkward dance at the start of each year when the "Is this clearly offensive team logo offensive?" conversation begins.  Normally they could hide in their foxholes and issue a murky PR statement along the lines of "the Cleveland Indians organization is sensitive to all members of our community and will continue to endeavor to meet the sensibilities of all our fans as we commence the "Our Tribe" fan initiative focused on inclusion for all".   Even the poor public relations mouthpiece sent out to make the statement would have no idea what it meant.  Then the Indians Team Shop would open and business as usual would commence.  

Alas, the times have changed and the team is going to be forced to abandon the Indians brand.  The Suburban white guy argument of "the logo doesn't offend me, so what's the problem?" isn't going to hold any longer.  It's amazing how passionate people become about keeping the logo.  Really, what they are arguing for is maintaining tradition, as the Indians logo doesn't equate to the reality of Native Americans any more than Bugs Bunny means that all rabbits are talking wiseasses.  When you see a logo long enough, it stands for whatever the product is that is being shilled.  When I see Ronald McDonald I think of cheap burgers that pass through my digestive system like a freight train, not a creepy clown.  What people forget is that ultimately this is business and not some sort of culture war.  When the PR becomes bad enough to impact sales, then the business will change course.  Whenever the Indians issued the statement on the name change is the moment when milquetoast Paul Dolan decided that the financial payoff of selling Indians gear didn't outweigh the cost of having to squirm in front of the TV cameras trying to explain why the logo/team name wasn't racist.

The problem now is that the team will have to choose a new logo on their own.  If the Indians were an ice cream flavor, they would be vanilla.  Not "French Vanilla", just plain old "vanilla".  They have the feel of an organization that will be paralyzed by fear in making the "wrong choice" and therefore make what they see as the "safe choice", which will please no one.  They will grind through focus groups, team meetings, surveys, and group think.  Ultimately they will boil it down to "what name will offend the least amount of people?".  Why does it feel like they will try to drum up forced enthusiasm for a team name a seven year old would choose.  Horrifying bad options that are probably being knocked around are names like Defenders, Rockers, or Guardians.  I can also see them coming up with something without any easy mascot or marketing anchor, like the Cleveland Pride or Cleveland Glory or something equally stupid.  If there is anything with a flaming guitar on the logo, they should just shut that thing down.  I can already envision promotions like "come on out and rock and roll with your Cleveland Rockers, and stay after the game for fireworks and rock and roll with Mike Love and the Beach Boys as they play all your favorites".  Donnie Iris, Survivor, The Presidents of the United States, the exhumed body of Eddie Money, and Flock of Seagulls will all score nice little paychecks for gigs out there.

But there is a better way...

The key to a good name is to have a marketable logo, something which lends itself easily to merchandise and third party tie ins.  Having anything to do with the town is almost beside the point.  No one ever dodged a trolly in LA, complained about Cardinals flying around in St Louis, or fought off Pirates in Pittsburgh.  That's why I think the team should be re-named the Cleveland Robots.  Now stay with me here...  This idea has legs.

Tear down that Bob Feller statue and put an enormous Robby the Robot from Lost In Space.  Replace all "in game entertainment" on the Jumbotron with bad robot puns.  The Robots load the bases and the video of "Warning! Warning Danger Will Robinson!" booms out.  The team falls behind 4-1 in the third, and a Terminator clip comes on with the "I'll be back..." dialogue.  R2D2 comes out of the bullpen with the closer.  Tom Hamilton makes the radio call, saying things like "that slider short circuited the Tigers".  Everyone gets excited for the seventh inning stretch where the fans all stand up to do The Robot dance.  "Hey Robot fans!  Show us YOUR best robot!"  Kids build their own toy robot in the Play Skool Kids Village.  Fans take to building their own robot costumes out of cardboard boxes and Reynolds Wrap foil in the Giant Eagle Fan Experience.  Transformers nights fill up otherwise empty weekday games.  Who likes robots?  Everybody!  Vendors walk the stands selling beer dressed in robot costumes.  Get the fucking Tin Man from The Wizard of Oz out there.  Robot races in between innings.  Drones flying around the stadium after home runs.  "Release the drones!"  The tickets sell themselves!  They won't be able to keep the gear stocked.  What do you want?  A Kansas City Royals cap or one with a robot on it?  Goddamn right you want the Cleveland Robots one!

The problem is will the Dolans have this kind of vision?  No.  Of course not.  But it doesn't mean we can't dream.  There's only one more year for the Chief.  Next year I pray I'm taking a train downtown to Opening Day, unable to drive my car in my bulky Robot costume.  Let's play ball.