I remember him sitting there. George. He was kicked back, all relaxed looking. We'd just gotten off work and were hanging out after having discussed our sexual and drug habits...
"You know you live a boring life when you're allowed to donate blood", said George.
"Yup, I suppose so", my reply as blood drained from our veins.
Many years ago, I made a New Year's resolution to donate blood at least three times a year. It was easy. The blood letters came by regularly to our workplace. We could just stop in after work before heading home.
Then I started having babies and breastfeeding babies and being busy with babies. The blood donating tapered off. I remember the last time was during a Halloween party at the elementary school where Chaco and Wolfgang were in attendance. Good idea- blood drive at a Halloween party! Had to hand it to 'em.
Anyway, that was quite a few years ago. I just got out of the habit. There was a blood drive at the university on Tuesday, so I decided to see if I was still boring enough.
I found it actually quite relaxing, just as I remember. And the staff is always so friendly and appreciative. Plus, free snacks after! I sat down to begin, across from this kid - likely an undergrad. It occurred to me that a blood drive is probably a good place for single people to meet "safe" potential mates, much like George had alluded to.
Anyway, the guy was sitting there and he had a wet cloth draped over his forehead and there was a box fan blowing directly upon him. Maybe he'd gotten a little woozy? I learned he was doing the "big boy" procedure where the machine draws out two pints instead of one, separates out the plasma, then gives the rest back.
No thanks, I just did the one-way procedure.
He noticed that the blood people were wearing either blue, green, or burgundy scrubs and asked, "Do the colors of your scrubs mean anything in particular?"
"You bet it does!", replied my nurse, "It means these are the colors we each picked out of the closet today!"
Look at at that, dinner AND a show!
Then yesterday, I was about three miles from home when I guess Bella felt sympathetic or something. I heard this click-click-clicking coming from her front tire and looked down to see something going round and round. It looked shiny. It looked metallic. I was really hoping it was just a rock caught between treads, but the logical part of my brain told me it was something sharp and man-made.
I contemplated stopping to inspect, but instead chose to pedal like a bat outta hell to see if the LITTLE PRICK would stay in so as to keep the air loss at a minimum and allow me to make it home before things got all squishy.
Happily, that strategy worked without a minute to spare.
Here's the thing before I carefully surgically removed it all psssssssshhhhhhhh...
I think it's a screw for holding on a license plate.
Yet another evil "Car vs. Bike" story!