Last week decided to go through with my appointment for blood donation. After my previous visit immediately post-Katrina, where i learned that an appointment really doesn’t mean anything aside from you being there when you said you would be.
this time it was empty, it was 5:30 PM on a Wednesday. One person was being counseled in a room. I watched TV while I waited. I was kinda sleepy. This Wendy’s commercial came on, that’s the one thing I remember. The one where the kid hypnotizes his father then later both parents with some hamburgers.
When it was my turn to sit down and chat, I realized I must not really be a people person. This lady tried to make me chatty and I refused to indulge her. I wasn’t rude but I really didn’t have anything to say, I’m just there to give blood, lady.
They change the procedures every time, to adjust for Mad Cow, Bird Flu, or new software. This time she asked the questions on a PC that that at one point you checked yes/no to yourself then later they asked you and you said yes/no.
I Scooter Libby’d one question – something about Sex w/ an African…Something I hadn’t thought about until it was asked by her that day. But it was many years ago, something I didn’t feel like reminiscing w/ to Chatty Cathy.
So they ask me to do the apherisis donation. I say “sure, why not”. And the sister who attends to me asks me a lot of questions like do i have to use the bathroom, do i need something to drink. i’m like “dang do i?”, She also tried to indulge me in smalltalk.
I don’t know what was up that day, but I could not WAIT to get me a burger from Wendy’s. The whole time I was lying there, and the cuff was squeezing the crap out of my arm. then after the pint ends they reinsert what’s left. that part was a little discomforting as it was the temperature was less than body temperature and felt like icewater in my veins. add another cycle of donation and reinsertion.
meanwhile Chatty Cathy came through, obviously still stinging from my economy of words and taking it as a personal affront, feeling the need to bring it up again.
After that, I wasn’t dizzy, per se, but I felt retarded. I could not remember my phone number when I was in the break room filling out my return visit information, killing time before I was to get my bacon mushroom cheddar melt. mm mm good.
and speaking of blood…
the new BP meds that I have been taking for less than a month have me at 124/76. but them jokers are a grip.
oh do tell us your “sex with an African” story