Ever since my senior year in high school, I’ve been a fairly regular blood donor. Not just because I like the free cookies, but I feel like it’s a relatively easy way to contribute something to help people. It started with doing the bloodmobile when it came to work or school, and then blossomed into a full-scale once-every-few months thing at my local Lifesource center. With one exception where I was rejected for low iron I’ve never really had a serious problem.
Because of this I think that Lifesource has become infatuated with me. They have always tried hard to get me to schedule my next appointment before I leave from one, but then, they started calling me at work and at home to leave reminders of upcoming appointments. To be honest I’ve started to feel a little bit like I’m being stalked. But I could still deal with it.
However, yesterday I got a call from them that crossed the line and revealed just how desperate they were getting. When I picked up the guy on the other end informed me that “there had been a motorcycle accident” and that they needed me to come in “in the next day or two” to help the patient out. I was somewhat taken aback by the weirdness of such a statement. It seemed to imply that if there had been a motorcycle accident, one of the following scenarios was playing out:
1) There was not a single unit of Type A- or Type O blood at any hospital in the entire city, because all said units had been devoured by ravenous packs of hungry vampire weasels disguised as hospital orderlies
2) The accident victim has very discriminating taste in blood, and has specified that he only be given the “fresh squeezed” variety, absolutely refusing any of that frozen “from concentrate” crap. Pulp is optional.
3) My blood has some sort of hallucinogenic properties that I am otherwise unaware of, and hospitals are offering it as an option for surgeries that they can then charge a premium for. The doctors tell the patient “You know, we could give you some blood from the fridge. But we’ve got this one guy over in Bucktown…his stuff will get you sooooooo high. The first unit’s free, but the next one’ll cost you…unless you bring a friend.”
Of course, by the time I had actually figured out that the whole motorcycle accident story was bogus, I had already made an appointment for this evening. Oh well, I missed my appointment last weekend, so I guess I owe it to society to give another pint of my non-eaten-by-weasels, fresh squeezed, no-pulp, no-filler, 100% Columbian, low-calorie, gets-you-higher-than-Woody Harrelson-on-a-Wednesday lifeblood.
Still, I worry a bit about what sort of techniques Lifesource will resort to next. I just know my next call will be from Mr. T or something.
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