...rescue me...

Denis Leary's show is on tonight. I'm a big fan, his... hmmm... anger... speaks to me. The show is more fun this season, as more and more of my friends have gotten hooked on it.

BUT, that's not what I'm really here for, this time around. Actually, I'd like to be rescued from the South Texas Blood and Tissue Center. A few months ago, I volunteered to donate platelets. You know, those things that make your blood clot, so you won't die a slow, painful death when you chop the tip of your thumb off making stir fry - yeah, I speak from experience ... and frequently ponder why no one will enjoy my delicious Asian offerings ... maybe it was the delightfully detailed story I shared with everyone of my experience and modern medicine's methods for cauterization, but, I digress. Right. Platelets.

My first donation went splendidly, if slightly uncomfortably (big needle, two hours, blood out, blood in... ok, I'll stop). It was kinda fun and watching a movie without any disturbances was swell. Alas, my next two attempts were not so cool.

During my second visit to the center, El Phlebotomist Muerte (I don't care if that's proper Spanish, I think it's funny) rammed the uber-needle into my spongy flesh (laughter here) and didn't notice it for, oh, sixty minutes! What did I get for my trouble? A fun purple puddle of blood under the skin ... in the medical profession they call this a "bruise". Me, I call it freakin' painful. Ever tried to drive a manual transmission with a bruise on your inner elbow?

After many an apology, I was given a bag full of cold and heat packs to "apply to the bruise to prevent swelling and discomfort". Hmmm... too late, pal.

Drive, stick, repeat for attempt number three.

Amid these trials and tribulations the blood and tissue center called me with unnerving frequency. A customer service representative (in the 'bidness', we call them CSR's, I shall do so here as well) kept inquiring when I'd be available again to donate. I inquired about creating a regular schedule for donations, hoping the calls would cease. Alas, the bloodsuckers (see how I worked that in? been waiting all day to do that) were relentless. I missed two appointments, one due to a late arrival at the airport, the other due to medications I'd taken. Now, they call me four times to remind me of each appointment.

Satisfied with my successful donation, last night, I ventured into work today with a clear head. Satisified that I'd done a good thing for the community at large.

But, lo, what is this? A voicemail from the bloodsuckers today, wanting to know when I'll be available again. Isn't that what the scheduled sessions were for? Jeez, for an organization that thrives on the charitable contributions of our time and body, they sure know how to discourage people.

Don't you worry, though, I'll keep donating. I shall endeavor, however, to encourage the bloodsuckers to be more forgiving of my schedule...

SQL> Select DonorName From tblBotchedDonations Where Satisfaction = 'All I got was this lousy compress";