One of my greatest fears is needles. In fact, if I lived in the world of George Orwell's 1984, room 101 would be filled with hundreds of needles waiting to prick me. I cringe thinking about it now. So here I am with my little form filled with doctor scrawl (I swear they have their own script), unaware of what to do. Its not like I get blood work done every day. Really, other than the odd sore throat, I am not a sick person. After having the receptionist talk to me like I have idiot written on my forehead, I take a seat on the oddly comfortable chairs. They only do this in an attempt to soften the blow when the metal pierces your skin. Tad melodramatic, I know. And it's not like I resent the receptionists, I'm sure that they have to deal with a load of ridiculous people day to day. Usually the waiting room is filled with people, yet because it was early, I only had to wait 30 minutes for the torture. Finally they called my number. This was it. I walked up to the little desk and she took my form. She took it, and told me to sit down. It was a trick. They make you all jumpy, so that your blood flows faster. The time passes, as I watch it tick down on the generic clock. Nothing in the room is stimulating, other than the putrid scent of urine, which I hope is from the urine samples, but I am sure that the man beside me just smells. My name gets called and I sit in a little unclosed room, where there is yet another comfortable chair. A lady comes in and instructs me to do several things, and attempts to be nice. I bet she sees people like this all the time, however she is paid to smile. But I bet if she could, she would just jab that needle in me. The needle goes in, and at an attempt to distract me, she asks me what my name is. The pain is unbearable, but I still manage to utter my answer. Before I know it I'm done, and my arm is bandaged up. In case I lose any blood. On the drive home, I realize it really wasn't that bad. In fact, the wait was worse.
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