SAA Ep. #50: A Phlebotomist's Work is All In Vein!

We've already established that vampires do not, in fact, give blood.  Therefore, I am not a vampire.  Also, the kids I babysat last night confirmed that given the fact that I eat food, I cannot be an android.  So, I'm neither an android nor a vampire. 

Also I gave blood on Friday.

I know, I know.  We've already had a socially awkward adventure dealing with a blood drive.  I can't help it if there's excessive awkwardness to be had by going to wait in line to get asked a gazbillion embarrassing questions and then having a big ol' needle shoved in your arm.  That's just how it is, my friend.

I've only given blood twice recently, so maybe I'm jumping the gun, but I really think I've figured out how to have the most socially awkward fun at blood drives.  The key is to wait until the last couple hours of the blood drive.  That way all the people working at the blood drive are tired and starting to get loopy.  Now, please don't misunderstand.  They're still doing their jobs well.  I seriously doubt they got my blood mixed up with another person's blood or anything like that.  They just started acting a little silly and saying whatever came into their heads.  And sometimes that was awkward.

For instance, there was this really nice, seemingly normal lady (RNSNL for short) who came to help me get situated on my medieval torture device blood donation chair.   I was glad it was her and not Hot Guy.  Hot Guy actually wasn't all that hot, honestly, but he was a reasonably attractive 30ish aged man who stuck out like a sore thumb--like an attractive sore thumb--amongst all the 40-50 aged women who were working the blood drive.  But whether Hot Guy was actually hot or not doesn't matter.  I would have had all sorts of awkwardness around him, and to be honest, I was already nervous enough.  Something about getting a needle painfully jabbed up my arm tends to make me slightly less than comfortable, you know....

Anyway, so RNSNL helped me get on the table and put one of those tourniquet things on my arm, all the while asking if there was anything she could do to make me more comfortable.  The first thought that came into my head was, "Well, yes, you could stop cutting off the circulation in my arm," but I figured that was kind of necessary.  Then she gasped.  I immediately looked at my arm, then at her, then at my arm again, expecting to see my own blood gushing out from somewhere.  But no needle had touched my skin at that point.  No, RNSNL was gazing in awe at my arm, as if she had never seen veins before.

"Your veins are exciting!" she exclaimed.  "I never thought I'd say that a person's veins are exciting!"

I gave her a courtesy laugh and thought to myself, "Hmm, I never thought I'd hear you say that, either."

"Your veins are just SO exciting!" she said again.  Then she went off and left me to squeeze a plastic handle in order to excite my veins even more.

A few minutes later, another completely different RNSNL, who was standing by the side of another victim donor, suddenly gasped and started shouting at me.  I looked at my arm.  I looked at her.  I looked at my arm.  No blood.  But she came rushing over to me and yanked off the tourniquet thingy.  "Your fingers were turning purple!  They were the same color as your blouse!" she gasped.  And I suppose my fingers were a lovely shade of lavender, just like the shirt I was wearing.  Apart from being ghastly pale, my skin also changes colors easily.  My fingers felt fine.

So I laughed and tried to reassure the second RNSNL.  "Don't worry," I said.  "My skin changes color."  She looked uncertain, so for some inexplicable reason, I added, "I'm a chameleon." 

The second RNSNL didn't laugh.  I don't blame her.  But before she left to return to her victim donor, she made a point of caressing the inside of my elbow and saying, "You have such pretty veins."

Obviously, I should find a plebotomist (there's your vocab word for the day) convention and start charging admission.  "Twenty dollars!  Twenty dollars to see the girl with the exciting, pretty veins!  And also, I'm a chameleon!"

I was kind of hoping that Hot Guy would come by and notice my veins, but apparently he's a leg man. 

Well, the first RNSNL finally got back with me.  She started rubbing my arm down with iodine, all the while muttering about what a blessing my veins were.  Then she did the necessary needle jabbing and left me to bleed in a baggy.  I'm telling you.  You haven't lived until you've seen your own blood in a baggy. 

Five minutes later, I had the two RNSNLs rush to my side and start frantically clipping things.  Apparently, they weren't ready for me to be done.  The second RNSNL said, "Girl, you are too fast for us.  You're a quick bleeder!"  The first RNSNL said, "Oh, what a blessing!"

Seriously, these people need a vacation.  I mean, I do try to bleed fast.  I kind of like rushing through that whole "there's a needle up my arm" thing.  But they were acting like they had just won the blood donor lottery or something.  I guess if I'm this awesome at giving blood, I really should do it more often.

Then, for whatever reason, the two RNSNLs left me all alone to hold my arm up above my head.  It was while I was in this ridiculous position when Hot Guy finally approached me.  He tenderly wrapped my arm in red stretchy gauze, all the while talking to one of the RNSNLs about how his girlfriend made crappy lasagna.  Frankly, I was getting mixed signals.  Was Hot Guy trying to hint that he had a girlfriend and wasn't interested in picking up chicks at a blood drive, or was he hinting that he would prefer a girlfriend with great veins who also made great lasagna?  Either way, he didn't mention my obviously spectacular veins, and I figured that a blood drive really would be a horrible place for a guy to pick up chicks. 

Unless you happen to be a vampire.  But then picking up chicks might have a-whole-nudder meaning.