Stick It To Me

 

Around the holidays money can run a little thin.  Everything adds up prompting me to wonder what I (with MS and two mostly dead legs) could do to earn a few extra bucks.

Since being a male escort was off the table, I decided to answer my calling…actually a newspaper ad…and donate my plasma!

 

Fifty bucks the ad promised with my 1st donation.

“Not too shabby” I thought to myself.

Though not proud, I scheduled a 9:30am appointment.

 

 

 

I had no idea what was involved with plasma donation.

I only remember my college roommate doing it once so he had money to drink at the bars later that night.

 

And so my head filled with images of seedy characters needing to score some cash—for their next score.  Dishoveled hair.  Dirty clothes.  And enough bad tattoos to choke a biker bar.

 

 

I arrived 15 minutes early for my appointment (like the ad said).

First thing I noticed were how many disabled parking spots were in the lot.  Tons…and each one was filled.

“That’s a good sign” I thought.  People like me…needing some extra dough.

 

Using my two canes, I shuffled inside.

There before my eyes was a lobby FULL of…..seedy characters with dishoveled hair, dirty clothes & enough bad tattoos, well, you get the idea.

I signed in and filled out the required paperwork all while trying not to touch the arms of the chair.  (I’m a germophobe-kinda)

“What the hell was I doing?” I thought.  I was definitely out of my element.  I avoided eye contact out of fear of getting shanked.

 

Minutes later I was called for my initial screening/interview.

I breathed a sigh of relief for my escape from the lobby.

A nice nurse began asking me a few, simple questions as I noticed a poster on the wall.

It stated you could NOT donate plasma if you had any of the following:

HIV

Ebola

Meningitis.

Black Plague

Small Pox

Malaria

and recently traveled to Nambia, Haiti or Hogworts.

Bad stuff, I figured.  I’m good.

 

“May I ask you why you use your canes?” she asked, diverting my attention from the poster.

“We typically don’t allow people who donate to use mobility aids” she added.

Remembering all those disabled parking spaces–I wondered what was their purpose?

“I have MS.”

She reacted with wide eyes…”Oh honey, I’m sorry but you can’t donate plasma with MS.”

 

 

 

In a split second, my mind went from the folks in the lobby…to the icky disease chart…to a scene from “Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer.”

While in the Land of Misfit Toys, Yukon Cornelius says to Rudolph & Hermie the Elf…..

“Even among misfits, you’re a misfit!”

 

 

 

The nurse lady led me out the back door.

Rejected by a plasma center.  Smh.

Oh well, guess there’s always being a male escort.

Disabled, or course.