Okay, I’ve sent a test post via the client that electricrocket recommended. We’ll see if that appears. It hasn’t popped in there yet, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it takes some time to travel through the ether.
Damon’s off doing yoga, which leaves me the time to tell you the story of my morning, which begins with me having a flight with a Hispanic phlebotomist and ends with me covered in salsa.
And while it’s not what you’re hoping, it’s still pretty good.
Before work today I had to swing by a place where they do the blood tests ordered by your doctor. I have no idea why my doctor doesn’t just do them. Some sort of insurance thing, I’m sure. Anyway, the tests are no big deal and I’m expecting to breeze in and out of there.
After a lengthy registration in which I say “My doctor said you’ll need a lot of blood, and that maybe we should do this in two visits” twice, I’m sent in to see the guy — Milton — who will draw my blood. I make the above comment again, which irritates him and he tells me I should have taken care of this out at registration. I tell him I did. And then I ask him just how much blood he’s going to draw. He claims he doesn’t know exactly how much he’ll need. So I ask him if he’s planning to just draw my blood until he just doesn’t feel like doing it anymore. And it grows less civil from there and ends with me huffing back out to the registration desk to request someone who knows how much blood s/he is supposed to take. Milton storms out and locks himself in the supply room.
I’m relieved to find the rest of the staff finds him as bizarre as I do and I ask a very nice lady who says “Well of course we can tell you how much blood we need” and then looks at my paperwork, tells me she thinks it will be okay to do at once and that they’ll look after me. So I say, “Will you do the draw?” and she sweetly agrees.
Now, there are plenty of other people there having blood drawn as well. It’s packed. I’m a blood draw veteran, as I’ve had pretty extensive allergy treatments since junior high. But some of the people there looked fairly reluctant.
So now I’m standing in the hallway with a bunch of other people, waiting for the lady. In my left hand is a little red gift bag which is holding my lunch — a veggie burrito and a fairly big styrofoam container of salsa. The man standing to my left has already given blood and is now just waiting around to use the bathroom before he takes off. He gives one little warning sway that provides just enough time for me to see him coming and dodge. But not enough time for me to clear him completely, and as he goes down he smashes my lunch bag into me, exploding the salsa pretty much from thigh to shoe. And there was my sad little lunch, just laying there all exploded. Now I know that this is not the nicest thing to say, but it was really really funny. I mean, this guy was really tall and kind of doughy and baldy. To see him slump his way down the wall and take out my lunch was something I won’t soon forget.
Understand that I have fainted before. I know it isn’t dangerous, just embarrassing. And once he was back with us I told him about how I fainted at my boss’ feet once, which I think made him feel better.
When it was my turn to go the nice lady said: Honey, I’m taking more from you than I did from him. It’s always the men who faint.
So a quick refresh of my journal shows me that my entry has never appeared. I’m afraid I’m not evolved enough to use one of those new-fangled things.
jaysaint 