Tags: blood drive, humor
Photo © wgroesel
As I knelt on one knee in the damp soil of the flower bed, with the wind blowing my hair so I looked like Medusa—the woman with snakes for hair—I remembered that I'd signed up to give blood. Aaackk!
There was no time to shower and change, so I rushed into the house, washed my face, and then....
"What is that overpowering stench?" I asked Corky Porky Pie, who had just walked into the room. "Is it coming from you or me?" I sniffed my armpits. They smelled like my current deodorant flavor of the day, sweet peas. No, the odor definitely wasn't an arm-pitty smell, but more like wet garden gloves.
"No time to figure it out," I said to the dog, who licked the muddy knees of my pants with enthusiasm. I splashed on a little Ode-de-Perfume, and dashed out the door, ready to donate a quart of my wonderful A+ blood. Or was that A- blood? I wasn't quite sure which, but an A+ was always better than an A- in my book.
Speaking of pluses, minuses, and all those statistical type things, have you ever noticed that when you have a 50-50 choice of entrances, no matter which you choose, it will always be the wrong one? I'm sure there's some sort of Cosmic Rule of Diminishing Doorways insuring that.
Case in point: At the previous blood drive, I entered the building on the north side and the line started in the south hallway. This time I entered on the south side, and the line started ... you guessed it ... in the north hallway.
After wending my way around the building, I finally found the right place, where an official-looking, blood-sucking lady at the door said, "Your driver's license, please."
My eyebrows shot up in surprise without even asking my permission. "I don't intend to drive the blood anywhere. I thought I'd just let it drip out of my veins into that cute little bag you have hanging there," I said, while fishing out my license.
She checked it carefully, scrutinizing the photo. I'm thinking she wanted to make sure I wasn't a terrorist. Either that, or a burglar in disguise who wanted to rob the blood bank.
Handing my license back, she pointed to a sign on the wall and said, "Please read that."
Was this a blood drive or an eye exam? I started reading each letter on the first five lines:
I F
Y O U
H A V E A
C O L D D O
N O T D O N A T E
What? I thought eye charts were supposed to start with the letter E? "Excuse me, but there's something wrong with your eye chart. It doesn't have the right letters."
"It's not an eye chart," she said, looking at me like I needed to give blood in person at the state mental hospital. "It's a list of diseases and symptoms that make you ineligible to donate."
There I was, with my wonderful A+ (or maybe A-) blood, and they might not want it? I read the sign out loud, "Please do not donate if you have a cold, allergy, flu or any of their symptoms."
I was crushed and turned to her. "You mean you don't care if I have AIDS, hepatitis, beri-beri or leprosy? They're not even on the sign. But if I have one small sniffle from an allergy, phhhhtttt ... I'm out the door? My A+ corpuscles and I are rejected?"
The blood-sucker woman's eyes narrowed, and I decided it was time to go. Not wanting anyone to get the wrong idea about my reasons for being rejected, though, I announced to all within hearing, "The Centers for Disease Control need to watch out for allergies, or before you know it, everyone will have them. Right now it might just be drug users and those living alternative life styles that have allergies, but very soon everyone will. If those groups would just practice safe nose blowing, the spread of allergies would be stopped!"
People turned and looked at me with blank expressions. I'm thinking it's because they not only failed the eye exam, but the hearing exam as well. Despite that fact, I continued, "It isn't my fault that I'm the innocent victim of allergies." By now people were moving totally to the other side of the room and whispering. No doubt in pity over my rejection.
"Thank you for your sympathy!" I emphasized my plight by whipping the back of my hand up against my forehead—almost knocking myself out in the process. Heaving a sigh, I proceeded with great dignity and exited out the nearest door ... which turned out to be the entrance.
So much for giving blood. And to think I went to all that trouble to make sure I didn't smell like a wet garden glove. As it turned out, being rejected for the blood drive was the high point of my day, next to seeing this little green snake in the grass while I was weeding. However, I'll save that exciting event for another day because you're probably getting ready to go donate blood yourself.
Just remember not to sneeze while you're there ... and good luck on the eye exam.
------ © C.L. (Cindy) Beck, 2011------
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4 comments:
Thanks for the laugh Cindy.
I was rejected once from donating after a nurse decided it was taking too long and she started some techniques to speed the process--it resulted in a mess and me almost passing out.
That is so funny, I can never give blood just because I never meet the weight requirement. It takes a brave person to give blood:)
My girlfriend went yesterday to donate for some money. Funny, she was denied because her blood was too protein rich.
I can't give blood until they decide Chronic Fatigue Syndrome can't be passed through blood donations. Rude.
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