Testing the System
Filed under Essay.
I won’t get into the details as to the why of it, but this morning we decided to get tested at a drive-thru clinic, about 40 minutes away. Opening hours were 10AM-4PM, and we were almost there at 9:45 AM. I say almost because this is where it gets complicated.
The clinic was on Jacques-Cartier street. I followed directions to Jacques-Cartier street. There was an intersection and I had to make a left turn, as others were making a right turn, all of us headed to the same place. But as I’m waiting I notice a couple in the car coming from the opposite direction, and they’re clearly pissed at something. Actually, they seem pissed at me. They’re shaking their heads, waving their hands... So I open the passenger window and ask them what the problem is: we’ve been waiting an hour!, the woman says. At which point I realize they’re on a one-lane street that’s basically gridlocked, bumper to bumper. From where they’re sitting, I’m cutting in line—which I would never, ever do!
Except, I’m not. I’m just coming from another direction. A second woman, in the car behind them chimes in: the line is back there..., she tells me. She’s much calmer and appears to understand my situation. Well, ok... I figure I must’ve missed something on the website, that it states, somewhere on the page that cars need to enter from Curé-Poirier (the street they’re coming from). Fuck it. I change lanes, drive over to the next intersection, make a right turn. I drive a couple of blocks, eyeballing where the supposed line must begin (there are zero signs or information about the clinic anywhere), take another right, then another to Curé-Poirier. It IS gridlocked, bumper to bumper, but here I’m able to make my turn without angering anybody.
While we wait I look up the official government website again on my phone: 1755 Jacques-Cartier. That’s it, nothing else. So now, I’m the one who’s a bit pissed. Not at the people I spoke with because I completely understand their frustration (even though I was doing nothing wrong), but at the utter lack of guidance and basic organization. As if the situation wasn’t predictable just by looking at a bloody map of the neighbourhood.
Anyway...We’re not moving an inch. I know what’s ahead and I also know what we experienced is currently being repeated over and over again, like a bad sitcom scene, the same intersection probably becoming more of a mess with each passing minute. And just as I spot a way to securely get out of the jam and head back home, I see a police car with flashers on, coming down the opposite lane: We’re sorry, the COVID-19 clinic is full for the day... I repeat, the COVID-19 test clinic is now full.
I glance at the time: it’s 10:14 AM.
Right.
...
When we returned, Cynthia had the COVID-19 appointment hotline on speakerphone (I’d called her from the car). Badly distorted music was playing on a loop. How do you even manage that? It’s 2020 for God’s sake, is the government broadcasting a cheap mic pointed at a dime-sized speaker?
She kept the line open, waiting, for 1h 20m. No one ever answered.
We’re clearly on our own.
These are images from the weekend and my continued incursions into Are-Bure-Boke. More on the topic in this week’s upcoming newsletter.
Later—please stay safe.
