Good morning! Let’s get right to it.

Last Tuesday started like any other.

I’d taken our two poodles, Phoebe (11) and Henry (5), for a dark, foggy, early-morning walk and was settling down with a steaming cup of roasted coffee in our son Charlie’s room. With Charlie now in D.C., it’s usually vacant and my preferred place in our home to “create” before seeing patients.

I love it mostly for its life-sized whiteboard.

My Tuesday pre-work agenda prompt was:

How do we increase uptake of the 2026 Flu vaccine? I figured I’d pick something non-controversial like vaccines.

Why did you tell us the age of your dogs?

The reasoning behind my personal Tuesday morning exercise was prompted by the fact that last year, only about 44% of American adults got a flu shot.

In the past couple years, I’ve seen multiple patients/friends get the flu.  

Okay, David. Think. Think!

Staring over my right shoulder, out his east-facing window, there’s no remote sign of sunrise.

Good. I still have time before work.

David, think!

How can we sell this?

What do Americans love more than anything?

Taylor Swift.

Yes.

Breadsticks.

Yes.

T-shirt cannons.

Yes.

Chick-fil-A.

Yes, of course.

(Not me. Plant-based.)

How does this help, David?

Darn it, David. THINK!!

NFL.

Paying $6.75 for coffee.

Yes.

Jeopardy!

Yes, yes, yes.

But…

David, C’MON! You’re better than this!

Oh, wait just a second…

Wait…just a second!

Oh, no sir?!?!

YES, YES, YES!!!

I leap up from Char’s worn-down black office chair and grab a turquoise dry-erase marker.

I twist off the tight cap, and before I know 35 minutes have passed and the morning sky is softening behind me.

I launch past the now-blue wall and scream down the steps. Both dogs barking at my heels.

“Honey! Honey! I GOT IT!“

Despite being well within her peripheral vision, I get nothing.

Her AirPods are in, and she’s likely 100% captivated by her new favorite book series. 

Well, I’m sorry, but I do not have time to deal with “It’s Krissy Time” right now.

I pivot and dash back upstairs, grabbing my laptop.

This is too perfect. Someone had to have thought of this by now.

My MacBook Pro awakens.

Come on, Google…

No Whammys!

NO WHAMMYS!!

Twenty-some minutes later, I am shocked and thrilled to find neither hide nor hair of my idea online.

Jackpot, baby!

Let the games begin!

Rachael’s probably just finished her 8-mile run. A text at this hour won’t hurt anybody.

RH – good am. Please schedule a Press Conference for noon Thursday.

Rachael works her usual magic, which leads to yesterday, when I found myself alone, front and center, behind a 21-foot-long, weathered oak table at WWAD World HQ.

Immediately to my rear stands a 4-foot easel. In front of me sit more than a dozen fancy 1970s foam microphones of all sizes and colors, just like on TV.

“I’d like to thank you all for coming on such short notice. I’m going to make a brief statement before we open it up for questions.

“Before my discovery, it was projected that 56% of Americans would decline the flu vaccine.”

“That’s over 190 million people who will reject what I have been and will continue to be recommending to all of my patients.

“Ladies and gentlemen, with this announcement, that will all change.”

I stand up as the news photographers ready themselves.

Fully aware of the historical significance of what’s about to unfold, I dramatically yank our flannel bedsheet off the easel.

Turns out it was a fitted sheet that caught the top of the easel stand.

In my excitement, I violently smack the easel into the wooden table. Its pieces, the posterboard, and the wingnuts fly off in every possible direction, mostly into the audience, where several people duck and cover their heads.

Once they realize they’re safe from debris, snickers, laughter, and inappropriate comments abound.

You know what?

Fine.

I bend down and pick up the sign and thrust it over my head, staring out over the heads of the reporters.

Just like Norma Rae.

Only mine doesn’t say UNION.

It says:

Pumpkin Spice Flu Vaccine®

Every single eye is on that board.

Like Jim Nantz after a jaw-dropping touchdown catch, I remain silent and allow the moment to take over the room.

Between you and me? I’m not sure I’ve ever been prouder.

Don’t smile, David. Act as if you’ve been here, I tell myself.

“I’ll take your questions now.” Those are the first words out of my mouth.

I point over to my right, third row.

“Yes, Bob.”

“Robert Flanagan, Des Moines Register.

What the he** is going on right now?”

“Next.”

This seems to empower the group, and more hands are going up. There’s an escalating din within our WWAD World Conference Center.

“Yes, Sharon. Good to see you again.”

“Sharon Dunn, Rutgers Daily Targum.

Are you worried that some people may feel they are being vaccinated against the flavor of Pumpkin Spice instead of the flu?”

She may have something there. Best not to answer that one.

“Yes, fourth row.”

“Randy Millworks, Sidney Daily News, Sidney, Ohio. How do you ‘flavor’ an injectable vaccine?”

“That one’s easy. Nutmeg, cinnamon, cloves, and ginger.”

Randy has a follow-up.

“I know the flavors of Pumpkin Spice, thank you. What I don’t understand is how you would taste it?”

“Next.”

At this point, the reporters feel they have me on the ropes, and all protocol is out the window.

Chaos ensues. I’m getting peppered.

“Is this FDA approved?”

“Why are you dressed as the Headless Horseman?”

“Has it been tested in humans?”

“Can you get the Pumpkin Spice if you’re over 65?”

“STOP! STOP! STOP!”

My sign is down and both my arms are as high as I can get them.

“Thank you.

“You reporters have to understand something.”

I pause for effect as I scan the room.

All the journalists look mad. No, actually, quite angry.

“As healthcare providers, we need to meet the people where they are.

That probably would have carried more weight not wearing the pumpkin head.

“Maybe they’re in Pumpkin Spice Land.

Maybe they’re not.

Maybe I’m just some crazy kid from Ohio trying to make a difference in this world by offering the world’s first flavored injectable vaccine.

“But I can tell you this for certain:

Vaccines are science.

Science works.

Vaccines work.

“My personal recommendation to all my family members, friends, patients, and anyone else is simple:

Please get your vaccine.”

I go to drop the mic, but I’m not holding one. They’re all on the table.

So I just exit stage right.

david

Disclaimer: None of this happened.

Be a hero. Get your flu shot.