ROCKVILLE, Md. — Montgomery County officials unveiled their newest public-health initiative Monday: roaming the county armed with vaccines and enough enthusiasm to make pedestrians start checking alleys before crossing the street.

The program began quietly enough.

County Executive Marc Elrich appeared at a press conference with senior officials to demonstrate how safe and easy vaccination can be.

Then somebody handed them needles.

Everything deteriorated immediately.

“FLU SEASON!” shouted one county administrator.

JAB.

“PUBLIC HEALTH!”

JAB JAB.

“COMMUNITY PROTECTION!”

JAB JAB JAB.

Within seconds, the press conference looked less like a vaccination clinic and more like a pillow fight at a sleepover where somebody replaced the pillows with syringes.

Elrich ducked behind a folding table.

Rich Madaleno reportedly advanced from the left flank.

Fariba Kassiri secured the conference-room doorway.

Nobody knows who vaccinated whom anymore.

One county employee emerged with six Band-Aids, immunity to diseases not yet discovered, and a new understanding of government efficiency.

Canton Cat watched from underneath a chair.

I have survived Baltimore alleys, raccoons, rats, Animal Control and one deeply territorial possum.

I have never seen mammals become this excited about needles.

The county then announced Phase Two:

VAX ON THE STREETS

Special vaccination teams will allegedly patrol Bethesda, Rockville and Silver Spring searching for residents who look insufficiently immunized.

Residents are advised not to run.

Running only activates the public-health instinct.

A prototype county van has already been spotted bearing the slogan:

FREE SHOTS

followed underneath in smaller letters:

NO, NOT THOSE KIND.

Officials demonstrated the new street procedure.

“Good afternoon, sir. Have you received your flu vaccine?”

“No, thanks.”

The county employee slowly puts on purple gloves.

“I wasn’t asking twice.”

Witnesses say the program will eventually include bicycle vaccination units, Metro vaccination teams and a highly controversial Drive-By Booster Division.

Nobody was willing to explain that name.

County Council members insisted the initiative is completely voluntary.

They announced this while loading a dart gun.

One councilmember reportedly proposed installing vaccine dispensers at bus stops.

Another suggested drones.

A third quietly whispered:

“What if the speed cameras could vaccinate people?”

The room went silent.

Montgomery County had finally found a proposal more powerful than taxation.

By sunset, officials were celebrating the successful launch by chasing each other through the executive office yelling:

“BOOSTER!”

“NOT AGAIN, RICH!”

“HOLD STILL, MARC!”

Someone overturned a copier.

Three interns escaped through a stairwell.

The county attorney locked himself inside a supply closet.

Canton Cat remained under the conference table until the coast was clear.

When a nurse finally looked down and asked whether I wanted a flu shot, I hissed, launched myself into an HVAC vent and disappeared into Rockville.

Because I may eat chicken from dumpsters.

But I still have standards.