Flu shot. We all should get one, but as an social event it doesn’t rank up there with the big ones.

In such a mood we headed over to the local mall. The local mall is pretty much at its nadir right now. A Home Depot is moving in very soon, and there are promises of fanciful things in the future– like a public elevator to the second level, which is where the Public Health Flu Shot Clinic had planted itself in the present.

Instead we page security, and a team of monosyllabic young studs escorted us deep into the backstage mall bowels to an unlit freight elevator. From there to a dusty ex-store where they hide the mall’s Xmas decorations, with a few public health nurses herding injectees or filling syringes, and a mass of folks, some lining up to register for shots and some doing the required 15 minutes of post-injection loitering. Did I mention that Jon quite dislikes rooms filled with people? Their acoustic crush tends to overwhelm his ability to see and focus.

But the service was quick (to which my lad only said “Hey–ow!”) and landed Jon with a lollipop, and as we sat on a corner of Santa’s risers, doing our time, we noticed that the up-til-now quiet Jon was having a hoot.

From his perspective, he had just had a ride on a really cool, jerky elevator with manual doors and no light and big clunky sounds, and he knew another ride on it was in the near future. Then the lollipop, which he savoured uncharacteristically (no crunching), letting it take up our entire post-shot wait, its taste overwhelming the less than impressive visual surroundings. As for the crowd: there was barely any noise from the pre-needle agitated and the post-needle bored. He could look around with abandon. And happily chat with his parents. Are you kidding? This was fantastic!

So there you have it: An entirely worthwhile outing. He’d go for a flu shot weekly if he could. One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.