Earlier this week, I was charged with investigating lines at the vaccine hub at Fair Park in Dallas.

Listen, North Texas, we’ve been through a lot, you and I. Again and again, we’ve heard this pandemic has brought unprecedented challenges to the world.

Then the weather’s over here, like, “I’ll give you an unprecedented challenge.”

Vaccine sites shut down. Dallas County reopened Tuesday, but people spent hours waiting for a shot. Fair Park then opened Wednesday with FEMA in charge, but I feel like that did little to address the long lines.

Some were saying they didn’t understand why they were dealing with long lines again, even though it was now sunny and short-sleeve weather.

Others, you heard, understand this is unprecedented territory. She presents a strong point: Why so angry?

During all this hullabaloo (or “rigmarole,” if you will), I got an email from back home in Tarrant County, explaining, “Listen bro, it’s, like, 60 degrees out here. Come get your shot man.” (Tarrant County Public Health’s exact words)

I’m still not sure why my name came up so early. Some have said listing a job in media bumped me up the list because I deal with people and provide a service. I suspected it’s because I’m enormous, but I don’t have any underlying conditions. I was discussing this issue with some of my media brethren.

One, who is also enormous and does have underlying conditions, explained that he still had not received the call. His position was I must have signed up early on in the process.

Regardless, I pulled into my vaccination location expecting a long line. I saw the line of tents stretching across the Resource Connection campus and grew concerned.

Then I went inside the mammoth tent caravan to see … no one.

“Come on up, sir!” a helpful woman at the front exclaimed.

As a man who always thinks ahead, always, I had printed my vaccine consent form and planned on filling it out while I waited in line.

“You should have been here an hour ago. We had a line then,” she continued. “A couple other people did the same thing. Just have a seat. Here’s a clipboard. We have a few clipboards for people to use.”

I felt like this was working differently than Dallas County.

But no one’s perfect. I’m fully vaccinated. After I sat for my observation period, the volunteer took my sticker and guided me toward the exit.

“Was this your first or second shot?” she asked.

“Second,” I replied. “So, now that I’m done, if I go out that door, is that where they serve the celebratory champagne?”

I don’t believe she heard me, or after giving the same speech to hundreds of people a day, she had just checked out. She explained how people have had stronger reactions to the second shot than the first, so even if I didn’t have a problem after the first hit of the vaccine, I might feel flu-ish tomorrow morning, suffering from a great malaise, if you will.

The nurse behind her heard me, though.

“We should serve champagne!” she reasoned.

Dallas County has improved wait-times. We can always improve. Maybe Texas counties can add some champagne to the distribution. This may have been an unprecedented pandemic, but now we have the infrastructure to move vaccines at very low temperatures. Throw some champagne in there, too.