An hour to spare between my NET103 tute and my haircut had the potential to be extremely boring, so I spiced it up with a little blood donation. Quietly chuckling over Fiona’s frustrations at her inability to give blood (she has herpes… wait, no. She was ”a very sick baby”) I stepped up to the mobile blood clinic and began filling out the forms. Been to England any time during Mad Cow season? Nope. Had any man-on-man action lately? Nope. Been “accidentally” stabbed with a bloodied needle any time lately? Nope.
“How wonderfully charitable I am”, I thought while sitting and draining blood into a bag. “How lucky the recipient of this A-Grade O-Positive blood shall be.” Upon arriving home I received an email from the Red Cross informing me that after testing; my blood was certainly not A-Grade, and that I appear to have contracted syphilis. This, of course, is not true at all; the email was from the Curtin psychology department requesting my participation in an experiment. Apparently it’ll only take 50 minutes and I get $5.00 for my participation. Wow, five bucks! That’s even better value than all that candy and juice I got to eat in the blood van. “Sure, why not?”, I thought, and replied to make an appointment.
All this volunteer work had better be putting me level on the cosmic-karma-counter scales, or I’m going to be extremely pissed.