you are so beautiful

In my ongoing attempts to be nice to people I don't know and overcome some of my innate unsociability/shyness, I actually spoke to the Red Cross people at the recent church blood drive. (Now, some people who know me think I'm actually pretty outgoing, and I am in the right situation. But I tend to like to keep to myself in places in which I'm surrounded by strangers, and sometimes try to physically make myself seem smaller by hunching, or simply sitting there very tightly. I mean, not that I'm a frigging sociopath and I hate people, that's not it at all. I just have a healthy regard for other people's space, and I expect that in return. But if you're a 4-foot-8 old woman and you need help getting something from the top shelf in the supermarket, please, don't hesitate to ask.)

First of all, I was thrilled to be the FIRST one there. I'm NEVER the first one. The gatekeepers, Jan and Helen here, gave me what amounted to a small textbook of warnings to read. Are you a male who's had sex with another male with hepatitis who's had sex with a tattooed whore who's traded sex for money or drugs that were made in Europe between 1977 and 1995 on the day they discovered Creutzfeldt-Jacob disease? There are a zillion different reasons to be deferred, and I had very nearly taken an aspirin the day before. That would have knocked me out of the box.

Robyn took my information, pricked my finger, dropped the blood into the vial and...oh NO. It's floating! I try to do one simple thing for humanity, and my iron's low! What a loser! No, wait, she's spinning it...no, it's OK! "The first one usually floats," Robyn tells me, with no explanation why. But here's something new: instead of having to sit there and listen while they very rapidly ask you the very same questions you read among the warnings 10 minutes ago ("haveyoueverhadsexwithamalewho'shadsexwithanothermalesince1977"), you can answer them on their puters. A nice option for those of us who are still working on shyness issues.

Finally, phlebotomist Simplico leads me to the table and prepares my arm. Simplico is a little guy, foreign in some respect, but it was slightly unnerving that in all the years I've been donating blood, this was the first man to take it. But he does everything ok, and in fact begins to sing along with the radio-- Joe Cocker's "You Are So Beautiful," which, well, I couldn't help but believe he is actually singing it TO me, given how beautiful I must have looked lying there in my provocative flip flops with tubes and wires hanging out of my arm, my blood quickly racing to the pint bag hanging below. The scene just screams sex.

I'm constantly squeezing and rolling the squeezy thing in an attempt to shatter the world speed record for donating blood. As soon as they hook me up, I'm done. Simplico is kind enough to go rummaging through my purse for my camera, and he takes the shot.

That's followed by the best part, of course, which is the snacks. Here's the one minute out of the day when somebody gives you something for virtually nothing, and tries to treat you like you've just created a cure for cancer. Kay hands me an apple juice. I decline the pretzels and the Chips Deluxe. And then she asks about my shirt.

I was wearing a Harp and Thistle t-shirt from my favorite pub in St. Pete. That started a converstation--with Kay, this lovely old lady--about Ireland and pubs and Guinness and lousy Irish food. Usually I bolt from the snack table in about 30 seconds. This time, I hung out for a few minutes and just mostly listened. It's a start.