It’s going on six months now so I figure what the hell. I find a test site not too far away. The city asks for my address, date of birth, et cetera. I choose a half hour window for my appointment and get on my bike.
It’s in the parking lot of a school in Little Village. I see a couple tents, some trucks with back doors open, full of cases of bottled water and supplies I can’t identify. A line of cars idles along the walls of the school, pointing toward two tented areas where capped, masked, and blue-gowned medical workers approach driver’s side windows, then retreat.
Not seeing an entrance for walk-ups, I lead my bike to the back of the car queue. A masked and gowned woman hurries at me and gestures over to the north end of the lot, where another series of tents are set up for non-drivers. I lock up my bike, then wait while a guy ahead of me checks in. When he’s done he’s handed a testing kit via one of those grabbers for getting items off tall shelves, then directed to the next tent.
I hand over the QR code I’d printed out and a woman behind a plexi screen checks it against her list, then grabbers a testing kit to me. She asks me to sit and wait while a woman and her young daughter register. We will be tested at the same time. When they are ready we’re asked to move toward an area marked off by blue tarps. Once in position, a large woman in a blue gown, mask, goggles, cap, visor, and gloves instructs us on the procedure.
We first have to turn around, away from everyone else, and cough into our masks. She has to repeat the next steps a few times as neither the woman with the child nor I are very good at following directions apparently. When told to put the plastic bag with the vial of liquid under my arm to free up my hands to work the swab, I hesitate and have to retrace my steps. I feel a little like the poor guy in that Bruce Nauman video. The woman’s main problem is her child, who is terrified of everything that’s happening. She has to keep reassuring the little girl that using the swab won’t give her the virus, won’t make her sick.
Once I’d manage what is asked of me, I put the sealed plastic bag with the vial holding the swab into a bin and walk over to a portable sink to wash my hands. Having been to my share of outdoor festivals, I know how to work the spigot with the foot pedal, unlike the guy before me, who needed help. At least I have that going for me. I thank the worker who’d been so patient and walk back to my bike.
I stand a minute and look back at the whole setup. It’s a little like the staging area from a disaster movie. No gas masks like The Crazies but there is a bit of that vibe to it. Just a lot less exciting or suspenseful and a lot more sunshine. This is the new normal, I guess. I wasn’t scared like the little girl that was being tested the same time as me. I didn’t feel the whole weight of what was happening. Maybe because I haven’t been sick or because my life has been affected so much less than most others I know.
I ride home through the afternoon glare, past the Criminal Courts and the jail, back home, as if there’s nothing out of the ordinary.
I’m negative. But people have been telling me that for years.