Colin White's Homage to The Young Lady Standing Two Metres in Front

I'd been standing in the queue for several minutes before I noticed something not quite right. This was my second visit, so I was expecting the wait. I had downloaded something mathematical on to my phone to aid the passing of time. Usually, once I'm engrossed in my reading material, it's unlikely I'd notice anything.

It was her body language. Weight shifting from foot to foot, glancing at her phone, turning around to study the ever-increasing queue building behind us, looking at her watch. Then back to the shuffling. Maybe she was going to be late for some important meeting. 

We all move forward one position, maintaining our designated two metres. 

Young. Probably not yet twenty and, given the proximity of the Medical Practice to the University Campus, quite possibly a student. 

At one point our masked faces met. My smile was hidden, but I saw the unease in her eyes. She continued her involuntary movements.

We all notch forward once more and, this time she is at the head of the queue and the next to go in. The kindly volunteer approaches her and, instantly, it all becomes clear.

"You're the one who's a little anxious, aren't you, my dear?" 

Stupid me! I should have guessed.  For the tenacious pragmatist, there are so many irrationalities one sees in life: fear of spiders, walking under ladders, climate change deniers, religion in most of its forms, veneration of lizard alien overlords, 5G mobile phone masts, ghosts, the number thirteen (especially on a Friday, apparently). I probably don't try hard enough to understand people's illogicalities, but I do hope I'm broad-minded enough to recognise their quirkiness and be tolerant if they are harmless in their beliefs. It is, after all, that diversity of human spirit which ensures the survival of our species.

So, I'm now feeling guilty because of my lack of observational skills. My lack of compassion. If I had recognised her fear, I could have told her, from my prior experience, that it's the thinnest needle ever … EVER. You literally do not feel a thing. I could have told her my favourite vaccination joke; there's only one side effect to this vaccine; pins and needle in the arm. Only there are no pins ... and only one needle. Yes, you're right. She was most certainly far better off without any intervention from the likes of me. 

The volunteer led her to a special area where a special nurse-jabber resided who was not only skilled in jabbing, but also in relaxing and comforting anxious patients. The business was performed calmly as well as physically and mentally painlessly. She was then led out to the 15-minute waiting area and I, having been similarly prodded, followed her. We had no choice of chairs, so I was sitting well away from her and unable to see her, but periodically, a kindly soul would go over to her and check on her.

Our fifteen minutes over and we were both released into the wilds of Exeter. We walked out of the surgery together and I wanted to say something.

I wanted to tell her I didn't understand her particular fear. I wanted to tell her it was lovely to see how supportive the NHS staff and volunteers were. I wanted to say, that I thought she was incredibly brave and, in her own way, a Covid hero together with those ICU staff working during the peak of the pandemic. Above all, I wanted her to know that I appreciated what she had just gone through. It could be that she was classed as an 'Extremely Vulnerable' person, and it was in her own interest to get the vaccination. But I prefer to think that she did it for us old'uns, so we can perhaps get back to something resembling normality just that little sooner.

We reached the exit door together. She held the door open for me and we headed off in our different directions. She won't have noticed me and she would never know the impression she made on me.