As I referenced yesterday in my timeline of fun, I gave blood. I had the geek of geeks sticking me with needles and telling me about the many bird houses he had built in his backyard. This schmo was also a bit meddlesome, inquiring about every aspect of my life.
While he was looking my questionnaire that details every disease I have ever had, he asked me, "It says you take Prevacid. What is that for?" Picking up on the fact that this guy was a total nitwit, I responded, much to his horror, "It's actually for my hemorrhoids." He turned white and looked like he had actually given too much blood.
Yes, I actually did say that and yes, I did tell him it was a joke and Prevacid is really for acid reflux. Unfortunately, my joke had unintended consequences in that it gave Mr. Needle a green light to joke away.
When he poked me with the needle and got the blood flowing he asked, "How does that feel on a scale of 1 - 10?". I said "fine" and he replied, "So, like a 6?" He followed that up with, "How annoying am I being on a scale from 1- 10?"
I always feel like a hero when I give blood. I like to think that my blood always goes to poor orphans that have been abandoned by orphanages, or at the very least just regular orphans. I like to think of the orphan I saved lying in bed, thanking God for the man that donated blood.
Of course, it has crossed my mind that my blood might have been used in a drunken, dirty, BYU fan, thieving, manslaughtering, bad breathed, tick filled, hobo. If that is indeed the case, then my only hope is that the hobo was once a orphan. Then I would feel a lot better about it.