Giving because it hurts
Verbal Jazz has the kind of blood that makes the Red Cross drool when they know it is available: O-negative. The thing about having O-negative blood means that I can give to everybody. I am generous like that. I may spit in your face before I give you the shirt off my back, but my blood type makes me positively magnanimous.
Circumstances beyond my control found me giving this precious gift of o-negative generosity in the town of Littleton, MA last night. When the Missus Jazz called to book an appointment, she was told to "just come in." Just coming in meant an hour and a half wait seated next to two guys who proceeded to break out a fantasy role playing card game with what appeared to be red marbles. A Google search to figure out what they were playing just hurt my head too much.
A sneeze from one of the marble card geeks prompted Missus Jazz to offer a simple, "Bless you," out of courtesy. The reply was something along the lines of, "I don't believe in that but thank you." Thankfully, that asshole was the last in line. Unfortunately I was second to last. Missus Jazz was third to last. We didn't have appointments. The Missus Jazz and I suffered through three rounds nurses looking for "blue number" blood donors, i.e. those with appointments, after all the blue carders were all squeezing the rubber ball and looking forward to being a cheap drunk that evening.
Early in the wait, Missus Jazz sent yours truly out to get magazines. I came up empty at the gas station and convenience store. "Doesn't anyone in this town read?" Apparently not, they're all too busy playing fantasy card games and pondering whether the ACLU would fight to remove "Bless you" from the vernacular.
So now the Red Cross has its Negative-O blood from Verbal Jazz, perhaps you might think to give some, as well? |
Circumstances beyond my control found me giving this precious gift of o-negative generosity in the town of Littleton, MA last night. When the Missus Jazz called to book an appointment, she was told to "just come in." Just coming in meant an hour and a half wait seated next to two guys who proceeded to break out a fantasy role playing card game with what appeared to be red marbles. A Google search to figure out what they were playing just hurt my head too much.
A sneeze from one of the marble card geeks prompted Missus Jazz to offer a simple, "Bless you," out of courtesy. The reply was something along the lines of, "I don't believe in that but thank you." Thankfully, that asshole was the last in line. Unfortunately I was second to last. Missus Jazz was third to last. We didn't have appointments. The Missus Jazz and I suffered through three rounds nurses looking for "blue number" blood donors, i.e. those with appointments, after all the blue carders were all squeezing the rubber ball and looking forward to being a cheap drunk that evening.
Early in the wait, Missus Jazz sent yours truly out to get magazines. I came up empty at the gas station and convenience store. "Doesn't anyone in this town read?" Apparently not, they're all too busy playing fantasy card games and pondering whether the ACLU would fight to remove "Bless you" from the vernacular.
So now the Red Cross has its Negative-O blood from Verbal Jazz, perhaps you might think to give some, as well? |
<< Home