Vampires

I gave blood yesterday.

There are several compelling reasons to do this:

• It gets me away from my desk for about an hour, part of which is spent reclining in a mesh chair not unlike the kind you find at the beach. (It's a little tough to visualize yourself catching rays with an umbrella drink while some burly bearded fellow is shoving needles into your arm...but it's still an easier mental trip to make than when you're sitting at a desk, listening to inane discussion about word processing challenges.)
• After the donation, you get to wear a colorful bandage on your arm. They even let you pick the color! Mine was blue this time.
• Free juice and cookies!
• They also give you a coupon for a free lunch at the company cafeteria. Pretty sweet!

Oh, and I guess it's also supposed to save lives and stuff.

I admire people who do jobs that I wouldn't want to do. Construction workers, for example -- there is no way I could do something like that. For one thing, you get all sweaty and dirty. And with my lack of hand-eye coordination, I'd earn the nickname "Two Fingers" within a few minutes of first touching power tools. (Yes, I realize that I get sweaty and dirty running and riding my bike, etc. But it's different when it's work.)

But I can understand the appeal of such jobs. Using your own craftsmanship to see something useful come into existence from a pile of random raw materials -- I can dig that. But I'm not sure I understand the appeal of a job where you spend the day jabbing people with sharp objects and then draining their vital fluids into little plastic bags. I'd almost rather work on proposals than be a phlebotomist.

Almost.

But I suppose I'm glad that someone enjoys this type of work. Tim, the fellow who exsanguinated me, was unnervingly cheerful and upbeat about his responsibilities, and seemed to be enjoying himself as he prepared to pierce my flesh with his needle. "Whoa!" he said. "That is a great vein. I should be able to hit that one on the very first try!"

You know, I think that his enthusiasm did make the procedure a bit more pleasant. He probably tells this to everybody, but he seemed sincere when he said "Man, that stuff is pumping out fast. We'll have you outta here in no time!" I smiled as I rhythmically squeezed the little heart-shaped spongy thing as I'd been instructed. (Does anyone know what purpose that serves? Is it merely a distraction to keep you from noticing how much hemoglobin you're expelling? Probably.)

The bag-filling and post-op bandaging went well. But I'm embarrassed to admit that once it was over, I started to feel a bit light-headed, and suddenly began to sweat. "Dude," Tim said, "Are you getting a little fuzzy?" (Apparently they are trained to notice when donors start to go glassy-eyed.) "Yeah, I guess so," I replied, a little perplexed by my own wimpiness. I usually pop right up off the table and do the Macarena to demonstrate my vitality; but this time I reluctantly let them tip my chair back and slap a wet dishrag onto my forehead.

The feeling passed quickly, but apparently there are protocols that must be followed. Even though I swore I had recovered (and was ready to demonstrate my disco moves or do pushups or whatever), they kept me in the chair until they had a chance to verify that my pulse and blood pressure were indeed in the desired zone. And of course, all the other donors in the room were looking at me and shaking their heads. "That poor weakling. He can't even spare a pint without turning into Don Knotts." etc.

Oh well, my macho self-image regularly takes far worse beatings than that. I'm used to having people laugh at my wimpiness. And besides...I still got to eat the free cookies and juice. Mmmm. By the time I finished stuffing myself with fat-laden sugar treats, I was feeling 100%, and walked back to my office with as much John Travolta paint-can-swinging swagger as I could.

After all, the person who eventually uses that blood won't have any idea that my permanent donor file contains the dreaded "Faints like Faye Wray" designation. Will they?

Bottom line: I salute everyone who donates blood, and I tip my hat to the fine folks who wield the needles. I'll let you know if being a pint low affects me in my upcoming 3-mile Sheepherder's race. In the meantime, have a great day!