Last week I got to do my least favorite thing in the world: (besides searching for clean underwear) I got to go to Quest Diagnostics for my semi-annual blood test. You see, I take some medication the requires my doctor to periodically check my potassium levels. I eat plenty of avocados and broccoli and figs, but that isn’t cutting it.
I don’t know anyone who likes to get stuck with needles and have the blood sucked out of their veins. (Except, maybe vampires. Oh wait, they do the blood sucking) So when I go to the lab, the last thing I am looking for is a sour attitude and total dislike for the human race. However, if you have the distinct lack of pleasure of going to Quest Labs, that’s exactly what you have in store.
From the moment I walked in the front door and heard the receptionist yell out into the waiting room, “Hey, I thought we were locking the door so I could leave early”, I never felt so unwelcome. It’s not like I have been waiting with Christmas Eve like excitement and anticipation for you to do my blood draw. I mean, I get that searching for veins and looking at butt cheeks was not part of the sales pitch as to why a career in phlebotomy was second only to debeaking chickens. But you did sign up, and I am the customer, and my insurance says I must come here, so let’s try to make the best of it. Besides, large, angry women holding needles and ordering me to pull your pants down is not my idea of a turn on.
The woman who was preparing to stick me had a scowl on her face like a Hillary supporter forced to wear a “Make America Great Again” hat. So I said to her, “Does everyone here hate their job as much as the “very unhappy to be here” receptionist? (Again, probably not the smartest thing to say in the moment)
Amazingly, her entire countenance changes, and she looks at me with a big smile and says, “Why I love my job”! Really? Because if that’s love, I need to reevaluate the meaning of “hate”. Everyone in this god-forsaken place, from the front desk to the back room, looked like they could win a stare down with Godzilla. I mean man-eating sharks would turn into vegetarians when faced with this crowd.
No sooner than she placed the Band-Aid on my arm, I got up and ran out of that place. If you hate your job and PEOPLE, that much, the last thing you need to be doing is carrying around sharp objects. Besides, most the technicians are big, angry looking woman, and I just know they are all man-haters. Add that to the mix, and its no place for the male species, if we want to survive!
I am already unable to sleep through the night just thinking about my next appointment!
The Lonesome Leaker 