I am already aware that my O- blood is so valuable to you that you really consider it yours and not mine. I already know that I can donate every 56 days, and, in fact, took you up on your kind offer to book my next appointment the last time I was there. I have the appointment noted in Outlook, on my wall calendar at home, and on the card in my wallet. We’re cool. The pint is yours.
But when you have one of your Perkiest Vampires Ever ring me up with a reminder call in the morning, at work, five days in advance of my appointment, and run through the litany of pre-reqs like she’s running through a high school football game cheerleading routine, it is unsettling and frightening and annoying and makes me want to hide my precious, precious veins from you. Like on a remote Caribbean island somewhere.
Melle, O- donor since 1996