Incessant gab holds up Covid-19 jabs

Son-in-law, born Mountain Goat, had his first inoculation last week. He was impressed with how the whole exercise was handled, from the timeous and informative SMS interchange to the clinic.

He described it as a well-oiled machine and coming from a gymfit oke, it must’ve been good. Only one major problem kept recurring. The patients – especially among whom he derogatorily referred to as the toothless or Steradent cluster. Together, they held up operations for a full hour.

Nurse: “Mr Clive Duffell, are you here?”
Duffell: “Here I am in all my finery. My wife calls me Doffie, but you can call me Duffy.”
Nurse (with knowing look – she’s heard it before from smartass oldies): “Please come forward to register. What medical aid are you on?”
Duffell: “Easy one. Heh heh. Nonrecovery. You know, Discovery.”
Nurse: “Which one?”
Duffell: “What do you mean?”
Nurse: “Which Discovery policy are you on? Comprehensive or hospital plan?”
Duffell: “Buggered if I know. Will have to phone the wife.”
Deep sighs all round.
Nurse: “Very well. Make the call.”

To get hold of his cellphone takes another five minutes. Then another five to get the dialling right.

Duffell: “Howdeedoodee my love? Oh, who are you?”

It transpired the wife was showering, so it was the carer on the line.

Duffell: “Blossom, tell the missus to phone me. No, no panic.”

Another five minutes before his cell rings with a jarring ringtone. Now is the hour by Vera Lynn.

Duffell: “Hello my baby shoes. Which policy do we have? Yes, I know it’s Discovery, but the policy, dumbbell. Okay. What? No, it shouldn’t take too long before I’m home for a nice cuppa. Bye, sweet pancake.”

Nurse: “Okay. Just one more thing. What’s your membership number?”

Duffell: “I can hardly remember my wife’s name, never mind numbers. I’ll have to phone again.”

We’re due for our shots soon. But, unlike Duffy, we’ll be prepared, I promised son-in-law.