There will be blood
When I was in high school, I took pride in my Student Council responsibilities as Vice President by organizing an American Red Cross blood drive in the gym. I’m pretty sure the bulk of the work included me making a flyer on Mrs. Johnson’s Commodore 64 and printing several copies on yellow, green and orange neon paper to be distributed in all the lockers. I also remember asking students to donate during announcements over the loud speaker.
Can you imagine the East Texas twang that rang through the halls of Hallsville High School?
I can assure you…no one noticed.
Since I was in charge of the drive, I was asked to give blood as the Bobcat Chronicle photographer took pictures for the school paper and yearbook. Looking precious in my denim button-up, khaki pants, brown braided belt, white socks, Cole Haan loafers and undoubtedly a ginormous white grosgrain ribbon in my sponge rollered hair, I was careful to not look nervous as the needled approached.
Having never given blood before, the nurse instructed me to squeeze the little yellow stress ball at a slow and steady pace. She then found a good vein and prepared me for the prick. A hush fell over the crowd as she stuck me. I didn’t feel a thing and said, “Was that it?” The crowd cheered at my bravery!
Okay, maybe that wasn’t really how it happened. Actually, some dude snapped my picture with a Kodak disc camera and made his way to the cookie and orange juice table to graze. I think my friend Julie was the only one cheering for me. She was on the bed beside me and told me that my blood was flowing super fast. She was confident that I would be the first one to finish. Being an over achiever coupled with my approval addiction, this pleased me to no end. I was just about to encourage her slow dripping blood when I felt something weird.
There was a hot sensation oozing down my arm. I turned my head and was traumatized by the amount of blood gushing from the tiny hole where a needle used to be.
It turns out, you’re supposed to stop squeezing the stress ball when the needle goes in your arm. That would have been helpful information. Blood was spewing everywhere.
Needless to say, this little incident turned into mass chaos. The nurse is freaking out. Kids are fainting. The janitor is none-to-thrilled to mop up the spill under my donor bed. Those waiting in line who weren’t really on the donor band wagon, but chose to give because it was an excuse to get out of fourth period have headed back to Spanish class. And I am turning a delightful shade of grayish green. Not to mention the fact that the Chronicle photographer was snapping pictures the entire time. Perfect.
After an hour in the nurse’s office, I’m allowed to change out of my bloody clothes into my “I’m A Donor” t-shirt and my Lady Cat volleyball shorts. It’s a true miracle that I had shaved my legs the night before.
Let the record show that I have given blood numerous amounts since 1994 and I still have good veins and fast blood. I AM A BLOOD DRIVE’S PERFECT DONOR.
I’m sure I have been flagged in some special American Red Cross database, because they have invited me to participate in the Bachelor Blood Drive this weekend. In honor of National Blood Donor Month, the Red Cross is gathering Dallas-area former bachelors and bachelorettes from the show to help spread the word about the importance of blood donations. Some of our Bachelor friends will be helping with registration and refreshments.
The drive is at the Doubletree in Richardson (located at 1981 North Central Expressway) from noon to 4:00 p.m. on Saturday, January 22. Sign on to www.redcrossblood.org/bachelor to schedule a donation time so the coordinators will know how many people to expect.
And you never know! There could be a spark between you and Tanner the foot fetish guy at the granola bar station. Don’t miss this opportunity. He could be your type.
Get it? Type? As in blood type?
Okay. Try this one.
Starve a vampire. Give blood.
THANK YOU. I’m here all week people. Make sure to tip your wait staff.