At the Blood Factory

Before donating blood you gotta get through this little information booklet they give you and answer some 30-or-so questions. These things were designed to filter out folks that may be carrying some shit in their blood that blood collectors obviously wouldn't want to take and give to sick little dying Jimmy up in cancer ward. (But imagine if they did? Little ol' Jimster would have to be the unluckiest kid in the world wouldn't he?)

Some things you wouldn't expect would factor in to the whole donating business, such as: (1) Drug use. (2) Staying in Europe during the 80s. (3) Having sex with prostitutes. ...Okay, sex with prostitutes, that does make sense since those ladies of the night are shadier than your average lady (of the day?). But, and this is what amazed me - sex with any kind of prostitute. At all. At any point in your entire life, can get you disqualified from donating.(!)

So I'm sitting there in the waiting room, turning over some mental math, saying to myself, "Jeez, man. If one prostitute has sex with maybe 10 different dudes a day, everyday, for a standard year, by golly she'd've had sex with 3650 guys! That's 3650 guys who, for the rest of their lives, can't donate blood. And even if they were tested clean, they'd still have to carry a stigma with them every time they answer this little questionnaire at their nearest donation station. With that hanging over their heads they probably wouldn't donate at all." Then I figured, "Man, and if they're the types who'd have sex with a prostitute they wouldn't stop at one would they? If all of those fellers had sex with one extra prostitute for that year, and every prostitute had sex with 10 different fellers a year, that'd be like hundreds of thousands of dudes that won't be donating blood ever!" (I suck at math)

Then this older gentlemen walks in, takes a seat near me, and starts going through the literature. I'm staring at this feller absolutely amazed. He sees me staring. He asks me why'm I staring at him. I apologize and I ask him, "Mister, do you do this a lot? Donating blood?" He says yeah. I ask him, "Like, since you were my age?" He says yeah, right about. And I says to him, "That's amazing." He asks why. I says, "Well sir, you look about 60 and change. You're still pretty strong and healthy looking and you're still donating blood." He chuckles. He says it's all about staying positive and healthy. And he goes on and on about living right before I interrupt him, "Sir, I gotta ask ya, how in the world did you not have sex with a prostitute for the 3 score and more years of living?"

His brows furrowed initially. Afraid I was losing him, I pointed to the booklet. He understood immediately afterward. "Hmm," he said, as he looked upward in thought, chin rested on his worn fist. I could see almost a glint come across his clouded blue eyes before he turned to me, face wrinkled up in a wise man's smile, replying, "Well, I wouldn't be able to donate if I did that, would I?"