Donating

Today I went to a blood drive at the hospital here in town. Now I’m not one of those devoted donors that does it every eight weeks. In fact, I usually only get around to doing it in the summer while I’m off school. So I got there today and a lady led me back to a small cubicle to check my vitals and ask me a few questions about my health. (No, I haven’t traded sex for drugs, although I have bounced the idea around a few times.) It was very awkward sitting in there because there wasn’t any room to move around and our knees were touching while we sat across from one another. It felt like we were Ariel and Prince Eric in “The Little Mermaid” where they sit across from each other in the boat holding hands while the fish circle the vessel squirting water into the air. All we were missing was Sebastian the crab singing “Kiss the Girl.” The worst part about it was that it smelled like the woman had eaten 37 of those peanut butter crackers. When she smiled you could see little bits of the orange crackers in her teeth. Very sexy.

One of the questions she asked me was “What are you donating under today?” I didn’t really understand the question. I rapidly started going through appropriate answers in my head.

• Under the Tuscan Sun (dreadful Diane Lane chick flick)

• Under the influence of Jager bombs (a la Shia LaBeouf)

• Under the Table and Dreaming (still the definitive DMB album)

• Under the Sea (What is it with The Little Mermaid references today?)

I gave up and just asked what she meant. She clarified, “It just means are you donating as a man or a woman?” Really? That’s a question you have to get clarification on from people? I was tempted to tell her some elaborate story of how I was six months into the painful process of gender reassignment. But considering that I still had my balls I had to check the male box.

The actual process of giving blood doesn’t really bother me. I listen to my iPod, make tight squeezes ever few seconds, and in no time it’s over. A college aged girl sitting directly in front of me was struggling. She told one of the Red Cross workers that she thought she was going to faint so they lowered the cot she was sitting on all the way back. Another worker came over to bring her a bag of ice for her head. After only 45 seconds she complained that it was too cold. Yes honey, it’s supposed to be like that. It’s ice, not Grandma Giuseppa’s famous meatballs. She proceeded to open the bag and begin eating the ice like a malnourished squirrel. The girl only slowed down long enough to turn towards me and puke all over the carpet between us. A little extra donation for the day. Ironically her vomit resembled Grandma Giuseppa’s famous meatballs.