Bloodnoon Rider

''270410User:Serprex 00:20, December 18, 2010 (UTC)

Blood. Silent morning was had with an announcement that blood donation was wanting in the office. Sitting right by, I went. I ignored my being a bit dazed already, having felt dizzy in mere stretch. Sam excuse herself in being seventeen, Chris noted that that was old enough. Three others went: Mariah was brought by her frizzy haired friend, and some fat annoying girl whom I followed in trying to find where we were to be taken to be taken, and followed no further. Elzabeth was crossed, time only allowed a wave. Pasic told me not to run away from him, as I ran away with a wave. I sat in the passenger seat in the van, talking with the driver about the car's superfluous design in having the purpose of carting people to and fro. I mentioned being a tad more critical towards design after reading Fountainhead. From there I went on to talk of how when I asked what people on omegle what they had read, they'd disconnect, save for one who was reading Frankenstein. I asked when he began to chew on toothpicks, he noted it was something to chew. I asked if he had ever taken up smoking, he denied. Mariah's friend noted that it was better than candy, healthwise. Talk of dentistry lead to my noting research into working in Antartica, and how they require good dental hygene in physical examination. Inside, we were asked for identification and given a pamphlet listing requirements, such as the requirement that we not have AIDS. Then we had to answer a binary questionnaire asking if we were feeling well today, had less traditional forms of sex, been in jail, had relatives from Africa, been in Africa, had taken medication, or been near South America. I answered no to all. Shortly after filling out the first half, the second half was filled out by an interviewer. She asked about my not feeling well. I noted having not been at school for five days, thus making it a rather undesirable situation for my anxiety. She crossed it and had me sign that I was feeling well. Then she inquired into my sexual habits, replacing the word prostitute by asking if sex was had in exchange for money or drugs. Drugs themselves were also asked of, though only the kind taken with a needle. I half interrupted to ask of marijuana when she asked if I had had sex with anyone in the last twelve monthes who had taken illegal drugs, but stopped when she included the note about needles. There was some discussion on having knowledge of another's sexual history with whom sex was had, it was decided I knew well enough. I was then left in the room alone, to choose a barcode on whether they should accept by blood so that I could anonymously deny my blood. I asked her when they began being so strict on blood, noting the death of Asimov. She thought I was talking about myself; I noted that I hadn't died of AIDS. I asked what kind of office designs itself so that the interviewee enters on the interviewer's side of the desk. She was rather confused as to what I was asking. They tried to give me a sticker stating that I was a first time donater. I informed them of my distaste for stickers. I was quick to get rid of the bandaid given from the pluck to test the iron in my blood. They had asked my number both when I gave identification, and when testing my blood's iron. I was taken to a dentist like chair after being asked if I was right or left handed. I said right, so they chose my right arm to take from. I had to take off my coat and cartigan for them to check my arms for needle marks, and to receive a needle. The other put some chlorablah on my arm. She asked which school I was from, responded to my response that she was from Beal also. She asked if I'd had a good breakfast, I stated I'd only had a yogurt. She moved on unnoticing. I went to pluck a hair from my arm; she swatted, telling me not to touch. The band they'd put around my arm and asked that I flex my fingers so to raise the veins was removed. She told me not to do any heavy lifting or strenous activity with my right arm after all of this would be done, answering that typing is not strenuous. I realized that the tubes they'd laid over my arm was going to be taking my blood. I saw the needle. It didn't look like a needle, it looked like a thin sawn pipe. I shut my eyes, it feld both cold and warm. I was told to say anything if I didn't feel like myself. I wondered if I usually feel like myself. I started feeling my eyes flicker. For a moment I began to feel some form of sexual impulse. My stomach began to stir. It raised up my spine, I began to say I felt odd in the head while raising my left hand up and down my torso. The chair was raised, my legs had been made a pool for if this were to happen. There was a demand for ice, leading to cold bands being lain across my forehead and arms. I kept being asked if I was alright, I nodded at first. I verified that I wasn't going to donate any more blood for the day. Then I stated that I could see again. I could read again. I didn't feel like I was going to throw up. I could hear my thoughts again. I could question how they organized the stock market information, though the nurse stated that she didn't care about numbers at that point. Someone noted That's Philip when I began to sputter about stocks. I was left to sit awhile. I asked how long I was going to be sitting there, I was told ten minutes. I shuffled in my bag, began to read. Decided I couldn't read and took out my chess board. It was half setup when I was told I could get up. I went to a table, where I accepted orange juice and began eating a package of cookies. The kind with the red jelly center. I asked a man when he had begun to read newspaper with a smile of contempt, he didn't know. I listened to a conversation about sudoku, mentioned that computers use recursive backtracking. I started on another pack of cookies, asked someone why cookies would be packed in a row when they require less plastic if stacked like some other cookies were. He was too confused to answer thoroughly. I was offered soup, which I declined in asking of the history of soup. The driver came in and said he'd drive us back whenever we were ready. I was ready, they weren't. I began eating a second oatmeal cookie. A nurse came by, telling me I was too be sure I had returned the cloth cover to my bandage before leaving. I was starting on the second oatmeal cookie at this point, but I began to undo my coat and cartigan after setting it down on my bag. A man came by to help me, pulling the arm of the cartigan so that I wouldn't have to remove it. He set the cookie aside, let my bag drop, took me to a nurse. This was after removing the cloth band, as he wanted to inquire that the covering was all well. I was given a bandaid by the same nurse who gave me the iron test. Perhaps she remembered my talk of disliking the rumples in bandaids, for she made sure to cleanly place down this one, though there's also the demand that I keep it on for quite a time. I finished the oatmeal cookie. I swapped the chairs that Mariah and her friend had sat at, since their was a mix of armed and unarmed with which I sought a pattern for. We decided to return. The receptionist noted that we could donate blood again on the twenty second of June. The ride back was quiet. I entered to sign out, and left thereafter