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By Jerry Zezima

For anyone who is nervous about getting the coronavirus vaccine, I will allay your fears by saying that I recently got my first injection and suffered no ill effects aside from the lightheadedness I have had since birth.

On the negative side, you can’t, no matter how hard you try, get a shot and a beer.

I found this out when I went to Stony Brook University on Long Island, New York, and saw many helpful volunteers, security officials and health care professionals but not, unfortunately, a bartender.

Of course, the fact that it was 9:30 in the morning may have had something to do with it.

I got the idea to ask for a cold one from my buddy Tim Lovelette, who said that when he got his first shot, he asked if he could have a brew, too.

“I said, ‘Where’s my beer?’ They were giving me a shot and I even offered to pay for the beer, but they wouldn’t give it to me,” Tim said. “For my second shot, I’ll bring my own.”

I should have thought of that when I went for my first one, although my wife, Sue, who got her first shot 10 days earlier and accompanied me for moral support, would have said that I was being even more ridiculous than usual.

When we pulled up to a spot where a cop was directing traffic for people with appointments, I said, “I brought my wife in case I pass out.”

He nodded and said, “Good idea.”

We parked the car and walked into the building where shots were being given.

A young woman put a digital thermometer to my forehead to take my temperature.

“Is my head empty?” I asked.

“I don’t think so,” she replied.

“Obviously, this isn’t an X-ray machine,” I said and moved on to a table where I had to show my paperwork. After that, Sue and I walked down a corridor and met a volunteer who asked, “Is this your first shot?”

“It’s my ninth,” I responded.

“Wow,” she said. “You’ll really be protected.”

We moved on to another table and met Elana, who asked if I am allergic to anything.

“Only to myself,” I answered.

“You’re a standup comic,” Elana said.

“If I sit down,” I told her, “no one can see me.”

“But we can still hear him,” Sue chimed in.

“Can I get a shot and a beer?” I asked.

“No,” Elana said. “It’s a bit too early for beer, but some people have a little whisky to calm their nerves.”

“Are guys wimps when it comes to needles?” I wondered.

“We all know that,” Elana replied. “But don’t worry, this will be painless.”

She was right, as I found out when I met Tina, who would be giving me an injection.

“How old are you?” she asked.

“Old enough to know better,” I said. “But if you must know, I’m 67.”

“You look great,” Tina said. “What’s your secret?”

“I eat like a horse, drink like a fish and get absolutely no exercise,” I said. “That’s all there is to it.”

“In which arm do you want me to give you a shot?” Tina asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “I’m ambidextrous. I’m incompetent with both.”

“Pick one,” she said.

“My left,” I said as I rolled up my sleeve. “It’s a good thing I’m not an octopus or I’d never make up my mind.”

It was over in a flash.

“It didn’t hurt,” I said.

“Of course not,” Tina replied.

“Can I get a beer?” I asked.

“Of course not,” Tina replied again.

It figured. Still, I felt so good about getting my first shot that I went home with Sue and relaxed before having lunch. Afterward, I celebrated with a beer. It really hit the spot.

— Jerry Zezima

Jerry Zezima writes a humor column for Tribune News Service, which distributes it to newspapers nationwide and abroad. He is also the author of five books, Leave It to Boomer, The Empty Nest Chronicles, Grandfather Knows Best, Nini and Poppie’s Excellent Adventures and Every Day Is Saturday, all of which are “crimes against literature.” He has won seven awards from the National Society of Newspaper Columnists for his humorous writing.