What do hookers, heroin users and I have in common?
No, it’s not the way we dress, although I realize hookers and heroin users love their granny cardigans every bit as much as I do. It’s not the infected sores, either. (I know, I know, I’m gonna have to get to the doctor eventually, but in the meantime, www.oozingskinlesions.com assures me that I’m not contagious. Relax.)
Well. Apparently there are more similarities than I realized, so I’ll just go ahead and give you the answer: none of us can donate blood this week. It turns out that hookers, heroin users and I all share the common bond of being declined by the Red Cross.
It’s an extremely exclusive club, so no, I’m not gonna sneak you in the back door. But here’s how you can get in on your own: have unprotected sex with 100 men a day for a minimum of 6 months, share needles with some guy named Scat in the alley behind Sizzlers at least once, OR have such low iron that the technician who tests your hemoglobin worries if you’re healthy enough to be operating a motor vehicle.
People get declined for things all the time. Credit cards, car loans, college admissions, marriage proposals. But how many people get declined by an organization desperate to draw your universally life-saving type O+ blood? Wait. Let me clarify. This is an organization that sets up in a van ON SKID ROW and buys the blood of homeless people. And they turned me down.
I must be some kind of special. I’m going to go celebrate with my new friends. Hey, Scat, wait up!
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