I took the girls I watch to the pool today. Since I had cleverly packed a bag full of my swimming stuff and cleverly forgotten it and left it on my bed in my apartment, I was not able to go swimming with them. So I sat nicely shaded at one of those awesome tables with a huge umbrella and still somehow managed to get a sunburn.
I'd been there about twenty minutes when one of the moms from the neighborhood came up and started talking to me as if she'd known me my entire life. "I saw you over here and wanted to come see how you were doing."
Now, usually I'm terrible with names, but good with faces. I've gone to the same church for five and a half years. I've sung in the choir for about four of those years. There are still names of people in the choir that I just don't know. There are many more people in the church whose names I just don't know. But I know their faces. If I've met someone even once, I usually at least remember the person's face. This person? Well, I had no idea who she was. I mean, she WAS wearing sunglasses, so I guess that might have thrown me a little. As she started talking, I just figured that she was someone I'd met once or twice and maybe shared a "gee aren't these kids so cute" moment.
But then this lady asked me a question that led me to believe that we've had more than just a superficial conversation. As I was trying to figure out who she was, she asked me, "So how is your book going?"
I looked down at my hands, at the book that I was reading, wondering if she were possibly talking about that. But no. She had that annoying look that accompanies every person who asks that dreaded question, "How is your book going?"
I kind of made one of those "so-so" hand gestures and managed a weak smile. She said something else before departing. I can't remember what it was. I was too busy trying to figure out when I'd had a conversation with her about the fact that I write books. I mean, I just don't go up to strangers and say, "Hi! My name is Ruth! I write books! I like Dragons! My second favorite color is maroon! I'm obsessed with Rich Mullins! My sister once got bitten by a muskrat! Be my best friend EVER!" Maybe if I did, I'd have more friends, but somehow I doubt it. There is a reason someone like me was born inside a shell. The figurative kind--not the candy coated kind. I think being an M&M would be slightly problematic for me. I am reminded of Spaceballs when "Pizza the Hutt" ate himself to death. If I were an M&M, my fate would be similar.
AND...back to my story.
The only thing I can figure is that either I was completely out of it when I did meet and speak with this person, or I really have only had surface level conversations with her and other people have been talking to her about me behind my back. I don't really like to think about people talking about me because 1) my writing and I aren't cool enough to be the subject of almost total strangers' conversations and 2) that kind of thinking makes me seem paranoid--and I'm finally just now starting to get used to the idea that "THEY" probably aren't all out to get me.
But then there was this one time in college where I walked into the office of my new advisor, an English professor. I never had the privilege of taking this lady's class, and I'd never spoken to her before. But I sat down at her desk and the first words out of her mouth were, "So I hear you're a wonderful writer." Apparently the English department HAD been talking about me. And "THEY" might have even been out to get me.
So I'm really not sure what happened, but apparently I meet people and then forget about it later. Maybe I have amnesia. Maybe "THEY" came and got me and erased my memory of having met this person. How many other people have "THEY" made me forget? What other things have "THEY" done to me?
I'mma go hide in my room now...
...and put tin foil on my head...
...just for good measure...
Showing posts with label pale. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pale. Show all posts
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Thursday, May 26, 2011
SAA: Episode #33: Short Story
It's reached some kind of record-breaking hot temperatures here in the grand state of NC this week. I've worn capris. I've even worn shorts--and that's unusual. I usually don't break the shorts out until July.
The reason why I wait until it's unbearably hot to wear shorts is because I don't like the reactions I get from people when I wear shorts. I mean, most people are grown up enough to keep their thoughts to themselves, but there's always AT LEAST one rude person who makes some kind of rude comment EVERY summer...usually when there are several other people around to overhear it. The comment ALWAYS goes something like this:
"GOOD LORD, CHILD! YOU HAVE THE MOST FREAKISHLY HORRIFIC PALE-WHITE LEGS I'VE EVER SEEN IN MY LIFE!!!!!"
Yes. Thank you, rude person. Thank you so much for pointing out my ghastly/ghostly white legs. I obviously wasn't aware of my insane paleness before you told me about it in front of several innocent bystanders. I mean, after thirty-one years of living inside my fair skin, staring at my pasty reflection day after day, I honestly didn't know I was pale. So thanks. Thanks for that.
But, no. Rude person is usually not done. Rude person often feels the need to give me advice.
"YOU NEED TO GET A TAN! GO GET SOME SUN IMMEDIATELY!"
Yes. Thank you, again, rude person. Getting a tan! Getting some sun! Why didn't I think of that? Oh! That's right! Because in the thirty-one years of living inside my fair skin, I've learned that it's physically impossible for me to get a tan. All I can hope for is painful sunburn, probable skin cancer, and the eventual sweet release of death.
Yay. Sunshine.
Think I'm being overly sarcastic? You try having third degree sunburn all over the majority of your back when you're seven years old. That's the sickest I've ever been and hopefully will ever be. I was in feverish pain for weeks. I was delirious and kept talking to people who weren't there. My shirts kept growing into my open sores and had to be painfully separated. ...and every time I get even the slightest touch of sunburn (which can happen to me with only a few minutes of sun exposure), I relive it all. So yes, as a matter of fact, I am good buddies with my SPF 85. The sun and I have a very cautious relationship. And I don't like it when people question that relationship.
I guess it's not SO bad. I have learned to accept peoples' reactions to my paleness over the years, but it's taken a while. In middle school, I got picked on a lot. Racism is horrible and stupid, and I'm not comparing my trivial plight to any real racial prejudice that anyone has had to endure. But let me tell you--it's just plain WEIRD to get ridiculed for the color of my skin by other white people. The other kids called me names...like "Casper Legs"...and wouldn't let me join in any of the tan-people games. One girl even repeatedly told me that she hated me because I was "too dumb to know how to get a tan."
Then in my early twenties, I worked in the One-Year-Old room at a summer preschool program. One day I wore shorts, and the entire preschool staff (not exaggerating) took turns coming down to the One-Year-Old room just to see my pale legs. I felt like the freak show. Okay. Apparently, I was the freak show. Maybe I should start charging money. "Step right up! Five dollars! Just five dollars and you can get a glimpse of the whitest legs on God's green earth!"
Okay, so I know there are other solutions. There are self-tanners and stuff. But apparently my melanin deficiency doesn't allow for a "natural" tan color from an "unnatural tanning" product. Self-tanners (and I've tried more than a few kinds) all give me the gorgeous complexion of an Oompa Loompa. Seriously, if I have a choice of being freakishly white or vividly orange, I'll just be pale, thank you very much.
And I could just wear long pants all the time, but when temperatures get up in the mid-90's, that's hard. Just because I'm pale doesn't mean I should have to sweat all summer, right? Right.
So if you see me wearing shorts this summer, don't look at my legs. AVERT YOUR EYES! The garish whiteness might cause you permanent blindness.
That's right. Super-human paleness. Just one of the super powers that Socially Awkward Girl provides!
The reason why I wait until it's unbearably hot to wear shorts is because I don't like the reactions I get from people when I wear shorts. I mean, most people are grown up enough to keep their thoughts to themselves, but there's always AT LEAST one rude person who makes some kind of rude comment EVERY summer...usually when there are several other people around to overhear it. The comment ALWAYS goes something like this:
"GOOD LORD, CHILD! YOU HAVE THE MOST FREAKISHLY HORRIFIC PALE-WHITE LEGS I'VE EVER SEEN IN MY LIFE!!!!!"
Yes. Thank you, rude person. Thank you so much for pointing out my ghastly/ghostly white legs. I obviously wasn't aware of my insane paleness before you told me about it in front of several innocent bystanders. I mean, after thirty-one years of living inside my fair skin, staring at my pasty reflection day after day, I honestly didn't know I was pale. So thanks. Thanks for that.
But, no. Rude person is usually not done. Rude person often feels the need to give me advice.
"YOU NEED TO GET A TAN! GO GET SOME SUN IMMEDIATELY!"
Yes. Thank you, again, rude person. Getting a tan! Getting some sun! Why didn't I think of that? Oh! That's right! Because in the thirty-one years of living inside my fair skin, I've learned that it's physically impossible for me to get a tan. All I can hope for is painful sunburn, probable skin cancer, and the eventual sweet release of death.
Yay. Sunshine.
Think I'm being overly sarcastic? You try having third degree sunburn all over the majority of your back when you're seven years old. That's the sickest I've ever been and hopefully will ever be. I was in feverish pain for weeks. I was delirious and kept talking to people who weren't there. My shirts kept growing into my open sores and had to be painfully separated. ...and every time I get even the slightest touch of sunburn (which can happen to me with only a few minutes of sun exposure), I relive it all. So yes, as a matter of fact, I am good buddies with my SPF 85. The sun and I have a very cautious relationship. And I don't like it when people question that relationship.
I guess it's not SO bad. I have learned to accept peoples' reactions to my paleness over the years, but it's taken a while. In middle school, I got picked on a lot. Racism is horrible and stupid, and I'm not comparing my trivial plight to any real racial prejudice that anyone has had to endure. But let me tell you--it's just plain WEIRD to get ridiculed for the color of my skin by other white people. The other kids called me names...like "Casper Legs"...and wouldn't let me join in any of the tan-people games. One girl even repeatedly told me that she hated me because I was "too dumb to know how to get a tan."
Then in my early twenties, I worked in the One-Year-Old room at a summer preschool program. One day I wore shorts, and the entire preschool staff (not exaggerating) took turns coming down to the One-Year-Old room just to see my pale legs. I felt like the freak show. Okay. Apparently, I was the freak show. Maybe I should start charging money. "Step right up! Five dollars! Just five dollars and you can get a glimpse of the whitest legs on God's green earth!"
Okay, so I know there are other solutions. There are self-tanners and stuff. But apparently my melanin deficiency doesn't allow for a "natural" tan color from an "unnatural tanning" product. Self-tanners (and I've tried more than a few kinds) all give me the gorgeous complexion of an Oompa Loompa. Seriously, if I have a choice of being freakishly white or vividly orange, I'll just be pale, thank you very much.
And I could just wear long pants all the time, but when temperatures get up in the mid-90's, that's hard. Just because I'm pale doesn't mean I should have to sweat all summer, right? Right.
So if you see me wearing shorts this summer, don't look at my legs. AVERT YOUR EYES! The garish whiteness might cause you permanent blindness.
That's right. Super-human paleness. Just one of the super powers that Socially Awkward Girl provides!
Friday, March 25, 2011
Socially Awkward Adventures Revisited: Vampires Don't Give Blood
I'm hoping to give blood today, so I thought I'd repost one of my most popular Socially Awkward Adventures that was originally posted in October of 2010. Enjoy...and stay tuned, because I might have more socially awkward adventures to share from today's blood donation!
Vampires Don't Give Blood
Before I say anything else, let me inform readers of the fact that I am about as pale as a human being can get without being an albino. We're talkin' Edward Cullen would KILL (hopefully not literally) for my fair complexion (I even sparkle when I wear body glitter--or don't shave my legs). If you connected all my freckles with a brown magic marker (which, by the way, are not all that magical when you really think about it--false advertisement???), I might actually look like I have a tan of some sort. But my freckles aren't connected; consequently, I look like Casper the Ghost's big sister.
My nickname in middle school was actually "Casper legs." And people wonder why I'm socially awkward...
So about ten years ago or so, I went to a blood drive. I don't particularly LIKE giving blood or anything, but it seems like a nice thing to do since I seem to react pretty well to the blood donor process. I've never passed out or gotten dizzy or anything. I don't have any iron deficiencies. I mean, it kind of sucks (literally and figuratively) when they jab that needle in your arm (all the while telling you that it won't hurt a bit--which isn't entirely or really at all true), but at least you get free Swiss Cake Rolls at the end. All in all, it's not the worst way to spend a half hour.
Only this particular blood drive lasted longer than half an hour. I was in college, living with my parents and commuting two blocks to school--kind of convenient. The blood drive was near the campus, so I figured I could go to class, give blood, and come home. Only there was this ridiculously long line. I waited. I waited some more. When I was the very next person in line, my dad showed up and said, "Um, we're kind of waiting dinner on you, so if you could just hurry home as soon as you get done, that would be great!" I said they could start without me (knowing they wouldn't), because honestly, I was in this whole, "Gee can ya'll stop acting like I'm a member of the family now? I'm a college student!" Now that I'm living on my own, I'd really like someone else to cook for me, but yeah--hindsight is 20-20 and other various cliches.
So I finally get what I've waited over an hour for--that two foot long needle jabbed in my arm by someone who has only had about ten minutes experience finding arteries. I survived the giving of blood. I got a free tshirt or something cool like that. I don't really remember.
What I do remember was sitting down in front of a Sweet Gray Haired Volunteer Lady who handed me that Swiss Cake Roll I'd been waiting for. I ate it hurriedly so I could continue on home to eat dinner with my (as I thought at the time) lame parents. I got up to leave when the Sweet Gray Haired Volunteer Lady (or SGHVL--pronounced "Si-hiv-ul"--the G is totally silent) reached out and grabbed my arm with far more force than believable or necessary.
She looked at me with deathly serious eyes. "You can't leave yet."
It was like an episode of the Twilight Zone. Was she some kind of SGHVL vampire in disguise? Had she lured me there with Swiss Cake Rolls so that she could feast on some of my A positive juice?
"Excuse me?" I asked innocently, because honestly, I had no clue what SGHVL's problem was.
"You can't leave yet," she repeated. "You need to eat something."
"Oh," I said, wondering if SGHVL was suffering from dimentia and had already forgotten that I had JUST scarfed down a Swiss Cake Roll. "I ate enough. I'm good to go."
"No," SGHVL said, increasing the pressure of her grasp. I think it hurt worse than the needle they used to siphon my blood. "You don't look well. You need to eat something else. Sit down and eat."
"I feel fine," I protested, wondering if I had suddenly just broken out in hives or something. "I've given blood a few times before, and I've always been fine afterwards. I don't feel dizzy or anything."
"You don't look well," she repeated. "Eat something."
"I have somewhere I'm supposed to be," I said. "I really need to get going, so if you'll be a nice SGHVL and let go of my arm...."
"You're too pale," she said.
Then I understood. Of course! She didn't understand that I had a severe lack of melanin. I laughed. "Oh, I'm fine. I'm ALWAYS this pale."
She shook her head. "No, dear. No one could POSSIBLY be that pale and still be healthy. You are going to rest here and eat some more until your color returns."
"If we're going to wait until my color returns, we're going to be waiting a while. I never HAD any color."
I kept arguing, but SGHVL would not believe me. She was adamant to keep me there until either my color or Jesus returned.
So I sat down and asked for another Swiss Cake Roll. SGHVL smiled with satsifaction, released my arm, and leaned down to get me another prepackaged chocolate coated sugar rush. As soon as she wasn't looking, I bolted for the door.
It took her a few seconds to realize what was happening. She chased me, but luckily for me, I was 20 and she was probably close to 80. Plus, I had a head start. As I escaped into the parking lot in all of my pale non-dizzy glory, I could hear SGHVL's shrill voice calling out to me in the night, "COME BACK! COME BAAAAAACK!!!"
For all I know, SGHVL could be sitting in a nursing home muttering to herself about the "Pale One Who Got Away."
POWGA!
Pronounced "Powa!" The G is still totally silent.
Vampires Don't Give Blood
Before I say anything else, let me inform readers of the fact that I am about as pale as a human being can get without being an albino. We're talkin' Edward Cullen would KILL (hopefully not literally) for my fair complexion (I even sparkle when I wear body glitter--or don't shave my legs). If you connected all my freckles with a brown magic marker (which, by the way, are not all that magical when you really think about it--false advertisement???), I might actually look like I have a tan of some sort. But my freckles aren't connected; consequently, I look like Casper the Ghost's big sister.
My nickname in middle school was actually "Casper legs." And people wonder why I'm socially awkward...
So about ten years ago or so, I went to a blood drive. I don't particularly LIKE giving blood or anything, but it seems like a nice thing to do since I seem to react pretty well to the blood donor process. I've never passed out or gotten dizzy or anything. I don't have any iron deficiencies. I mean, it kind of sucks (literally and figuratively) when they jab that needle in your arm (all the while telling you that it won't hurt a bit--which isn't entirely or really at all true), but at least you get free Swiss Cake Rolls at the end. All in all, it's not the worst way to spend a half hour.
Only this particular blood drive lasted longer than half an hour. I was in college, living with my parents and commuting two blocks to school--kind of convenient. The blood drive was near the campus, so I figured I could go to class, give blood, and come home. Only there was this ridiculously long line. I waited. I waited some more. When I was the very next person in line, my dad showed up and said, "Um, we're kind of waiting dinner on you, so if you could just hurry home as soon as you get done, that would be great!" I said they could start without me (knowing they wouldn't), because honestly, I was in this whole, "Gee can ya'll stop acting like I'm a member of the family now? I'm a college student!" Now that I'm living on my own, I'd really like someone else to cook for me, but yeah--hindsight is 20-20 and other various cliches.
So I finally get what I've waited over an hour for--that two foot long needle jabbed in my arm by someone who has only had about ten minutes experience finding arteries. I survived the giving of blood. I got a free tshirt or something cool like that. I don't really remember.
What I do remember was sitting down in front of a Sweet Gray Haired Volunteer Lady who handed me that Swiss Cake Roll I'd been waiting for. I ate it hurriedly so I could continue on home to eat dinner with my (as I thought at the time) lame parents. I got up to leave when the Sweet Gray Haired Volunteer Lady (or SGHVL--pronounced "Si-hiv-ul"--the G is totally silent) reached out and grabbed my arm with far more force than believable or necessary.
She looked at me with deathly serious eyes. "You can't leave yet."
It was like an episode of the Twilight Zone. Was she some kind of SGHVL vampire in disguise? Had she lured me there with Swiss Cake Rolls so that she could feast on some of my A positive juice?
"Excuse me?" I asked innocently, because honestly, I had no clue what SGHVL's problem was.
"You can't leave yet," she repeated. "You need to eat something."
"Oh," I said, wondering if SGHVL was suffering from dimentia and had already forgotten that I had JUST scarfed down a Swiss Cake Roll. "I ate enough. I'm good to go."
"No," SGHVL said, increasing the pressure of her grasp. I think it hurt worse than the needle they used to siphon my blood. "You don't look well. You need to eat something else. Sit down and eat."
"I feel fine," I protested, wondering if I had suddenly just broken out in hives or something. "I've given blood a few times before, and I've always been fine afterwards. I don't feel dizzy or anything."
"You don't look well," she repeated. "Eat something."
"I have somewhere I'm supposed to be," I said. "I really need to get going, so if you'll be a nice SGHVL and let go of my arm...."
"You're too pale," she said.
Then I understood. Of course! She didn't understand that I had a severe lack of melanin. I laughed. "Oh, I'm fine. I'm ALWAYS this pale."
She shook her head. "No, dear. No one could POSSIBLY be that pale and still be healthy. You are going to rest here and eat some more until your color returns."
"If we're going to wait until my color returns, we're going to be waiting a while. I never HAD any color."
I kept arguing, but SGHVL would not believe me. She was adamant to keep me there until either my color or Jesus returned.
So I sat down and asked for another Swiss Cake Roll. SGHVL smiled with satsifaction, released my arm, and leaned down to get me another prepackaged chocolate coated sugar rush. As soon as she wasn't looking, I bolted for the door.
It took her a few seconds to realize what was happening. She chased me, but luckily for me, I was 20 and she was probably close to 80. Plus, I had a head start. As I escaped into the parking lot in all of my pale non-dizzy glory, I could hear SGHVL's shrill voice calling out to me in the night, "COME BACK! COME BAAAAAACK!!!"
For all I know, SGHVL could be sitting in a nursing home muttering to herself about the "Pale One Who Got Away."
POWGA!
Pronounced "Powa!" The G is still totally silent.
Friday, October 1, 2010
Embarablast From the Past Episode #3: Vampires Don't Give Blood
Before I say anything else, let me inform readers of the fact that I am about as pale as a human being can get without being an albino. We're talkin' Edward Cullen would KILL (hopefully not literally) for my fair complexion (I even sparkle when I wear body glitter--or don't shave my legs). If you connected all my freckles with a brown magic marker (which, by the way, are not all that magical when you really think about it--false advertisement???), I might actually look like I have a tan of some sort. But my freckles aren't connected; consequently, I look like Casper the Ghost's big sister.
My nickname in middle school was actually "Casper legs." And people wonder why I'm socially awkward...
So about ten years ago or so, I went to a blood drive. I don't particularly LIKE giving blood or anything, but it seems like a nice thing to do since I seem to react pretty well to the blood donor process. I've never passed out or gotten dizzy or anything. I don't have any iron deficiencies. I mean, it kind of sucks (literally and figuratively) when they jab that needle in your arm (all the while telling you that it won't hurt a bit--which isn't entirely or really at all true), but at least you get free Swiss Cake Rolls at the end. All in all, it's not the worst way to spend a half hour.
Only this particular blood drive lasted longer than half an hour. I was in college, living with my parents and commuting two blocks to school--kind of convenient. The blood drive was near the campus, so I figured I could go to class, give blood, and come home. Only there was this ridiculously long line. I waited. I waited some more. When I was the very next person in line, my dad showed up and said, "Um, we're kind of waiting dinner on you, so if you could just hurry home as soon as you get done, that would be great!" I said they could start without me (knowing they wouldn't), because honestly, I was in this whole, "Gee can ya'll stop acting like I'm a member of the family now? I'm a college student!" Now that I'm living on my own, I'd really like someone else to cook for me, but yeah--hindsight is 20-20 and other various cliches.
So I finally get what I've waited over an hour for--that two foot long needle jabbed in my arm by someone who has only had about ten minutes experience finding arteries. I survived the giving of blood. I got a free tshirt or something cool like that. I don't really remember.
What I do remember was sitting down in front of a Sweet Gray Haired Volunteer Lady who handed me that Swiss Cake Roll I'd been waiting for. I ate it hurriedly so I could continue on home to eat dinner with my (as I thought at the time) lame parents. I got up to leave when the Sweet Gray Haired Volunteer Lady (or SGHVL--pronounced "Si-hiv-ul"--the G is totally silent) reached out and grabbed my arm with far more force than believable or necessary.
She looked at me with deathly serious eyes. "You can't leave yet."
It was like an episode of the Twilight Zone. Was she some kind of SGHVL vampire in disguise? Had she lured me there with Swiss Cake Rolls so that she could feast on some of my A positive juice?
"Excuse me?" I asked innocently, because honestly, I had no clue what SGHVL's problem was.
"You can't leave yet," she repeated. "You need to eat something."
"Oh," I said, wondering if SGHVL was suffering from dimentia and had already forgotten that I had JUST scarfed down a Swiss Cake Roll. "I ate enough. I'm good to go."
"No," SGHVL said, increasing the pressure of her grasp. I think it hurt worse than the needle they used to siphon my blood. "You don't look well. You need to eat something else. Sit down and eat."
"I feel fine," I protested, wondering if I had suddenly just broken out in hives or something. "I've given blood a few times before, and I've always been fine afterwards. I don't feel dizzy or anything."
"You don't look well," she repeated. "Eat something."
"I have somewhere I'm supposed to be," I said. "I really need to get going, so if you'll be a nice SGHVL and let go of my arm...."
"You're too pale," she said.
Then I understood. Of course! She didn't understand that I had a severe lack of melanin. I laughed. "Oh, I'm fine. I'm ALWAYS this pale."
She shook her head. "No, dear. No one could POSSIBLY be that pale and still be healthy. You are going to rest here and eat some more until your color returns."
"If we're going to wait until my color returns, we're going to be waiting a while. I never HAD any color."
I kept arguing, but SGHVL would not believe me. She was adamant to keep me there until either my color or Jesus returned.
So I sat down and asked for another Swiss Cake Roll. SGHVL smiled with satsifaction, released my arm, and leaned down to get me another prepackaged chocolate coated sugar rush. As soon as she wasn't looking, I bolted for the door.
It took her a few seconds to realize what was happening. She chased me, but luckily for me, I was 20 and she was probably close to 80. Plus, I had a head start. As I escaped into the parking lot in all of my pale non-dizzy glory, I could hear SGHVL's shrill voice calling out to me in the night, "COME BACK! COME BAAAAAACK!!!"
For all I know, SGHVL could be sitting in a nursing home muttering to herself about the "Pale One Who Got Away."
POWGA!
Pronounced "Powa!" The G is still totally silent.
My nickname in middle school was actually "Casper legs." And people wonder why I'm socially awkward...
So about ten years ago or so, I went to a blood drive. I don't particularly LIKE giving blood or anything, but it seems like a nice thing to do since I seem to react pretty well to the blood donor process. I've never passed out or gotten dizzy or anything. I don't have any iron deficiencies. I mean, it kind of sucks (literally and figuratively) when they jab that needle in your arm (all the while telling you that it won't hurt a bit--which isn't entirely or really at all true), but at least you get free Swiss Cake Rolls at the end. All in all, it's not the worst way to spend a half hour.
Only this particular blood drive lasted longer than half an hour. I was in college, living with my parents and commuting two blocks to school--kind of convenient. The blood drive was near the campus, so I figured I could go to class, give blood, and come home. Only there was this ridiculously long line. I waited. I waited some more. When I was the very next person in line, my dad showed up and said, "Um, we're kind of waiting dinner on you, so if you could just hurry home as soon as you get done, that would be great!" I said they could start without me (knowing they wouldn't), because honestly, I was in this whole, "Gee can ya'll stop acting like I'm a member of the family now? I'm a college student!" Now that I'm living on my own, I'd really like someone else to cook for me, but yeah--hindsight is 20-20 and other various cliches.
So I finally get what I've waited over an hour for--that two foot long needle jabbed in my arm by someone who has only had about ten minutes experience finding arteries. I survived the giving of blood. I got a free tshirt or something cool like that. I don't really remember.
What I do remember was sitting down in front of a Sweet Gray Haired Volunteer Lady who handed me that Swiss Cake Roll I'd been waiting for. I ate it hurriedly so I could continue on home to eat dinner with my (as I thought at the time) lame parents. I got up to leave when the Sweet Gray Haired Volunteer Lady (or SGHVL--pronounced "Si-hiv-ul"--the G is totally silent) reached out and grabbed my arm with far more force than believable or necessary.
She looked at me with deathly serious eyes. "You can't leave yet."
It was like an episode of the Twilight Zone. Was she some kind of SGHVL vampire in disguise? Had she lured me there with Swiss Cake Rolls so that she could feast on some of my A positive juice?
"Excuse me?" I asked innocently, because honestly, I had no clue what SGHVL's problem was.
"You can't leave yet," she repeated. "You need to eat something."
"Oh," I said, wondering if SGHVL was suffering from dimentia and had already forgotten that I had JUST scarfed down a Swiss Cake Roll. "I ate enough. I'm good to go."
"No," SGHVL said, increasing the pressure of her grasp. I think it hurt worse than the needle they used to siphon my blood. "You don't look well. You need to eat something else. Sit down and eat."
"I feel fine," I protested, wondering if I had suddenly just broken out in hives or something. "I've given blood a few times before, and I've always been fine afterwards. I don't feel dizzy or anything."
"You don't look well," she repeated. "Eat something."
"I have somewhere I'm supposed to be," I said. "I really need to get going, so if you'll be a nice SGHVL and let go of my arm...."
"You're too pale," she said.
Then I understood. Of course! She didn't understand that I had a severe lack of melanin. I laughed. "Oh, I'm fine. I'm ALWAYS this pale."
She shook her head. "No, dear. No one could POSSIBLY be that pale and still be healthy. You are going to rest here and eat some more until your color returns."
"If we're going to wait until my color returns, we're going to be waiting a while. I never HAD any color."
I kept arguing, but SGHVL would not believe me. She was adamant to keep me there until either my color or Jesus returned.
So I sat down and asked for another Swiss Cake Roll. SGHVL smiled with satsifaction, released my arm, and leaned down to get me another prepackaged chocolate coated sugar rush. As soon as she wasn't looking, I bolted for the door.
It took her a few seconds to realize what was happening. She chased me, but luckily for me, I was 20 and she was probably close to 80. Plus, I had a head start. As I escaped into the parking lot in all of my pale non-dizzy glory, I could hear SGHVL's shrill voice calling out to me in the night, "COME BACK! COME BAAAAAACK!!!"
For all I know, SGHVL could be sitting in a nursing home muttering to herself about the "Pale One Who Got Away."
POWGA!
Pronounced "Powa!" The G is still totally silent.
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