How I became an Atheist
Since twitter has a 140-character limit I had to take my
talents to the blog. Except unlike
Lebron, the end of this story won’t suck.
I had to get a blood test this morning—my first one ever.
Usually first times are good: sex, a kiss, weed, masturbating….but this was
different. I’ve managed to have the “finger pricking method” done for the past
17 years, but 2 weeks ago my doctor recommended I get a full body work up,
after I lost 8 pounds despite eating junk food 24/7 (I know…every girls dream).
This time my dad was smart enough to schedule an
appointment. We arrived there at around 9:45 and the place was packed. I
thought I had walked into a fucken immigration center: blacks, Indians, Asians,
Mexicans…the KKK would have had a field day.
What first caught my eye was the 40-something year old Hispanic
gentlemen sitting on the right, with his daughter. To be honest I have no idea
if it was his daughter. The girl was around 14 years old, so at that age she
could be one of four things: 1. His daughter, 2. His sister, 3. His wife, or 4.
His prostitute. Or the most likely scenario, all of the above. On my left was a
old white man and two African American teenagers who were all shadily
conversing amongst themselves. Seeing as I am such a kind-hearted person, my
first thought was that these girls were in danger (maybe a part of some sex
trafficking scheme), I felt like I was in a scene of Law and order. Part of me
was hoping Mariska Hargitay would burst in and arrest the “son of a bitch”. I
have nothing against inter-racial families but let’s be honest, what’s more
likely? My fear was relieved when they were leaving and one of the girls said
to the man “Give me the keys to the car, I’m driving home” while the other was
texting away on her blackberry. I realized that these young ladies were not sex
slaves, they just fell into the “other category” of girls: spoiled bitches (and
not the good kind). Finally I found
something more pleasurable to think about:
the attractive college girl across the room, sporting her UCONN
sweatshirt. It was love at first sight, until I overheard that she was here for
an STD test. After weighting the pro and cons I came to a logical conclusion,
wait to see which (if any) STDs she has…then play it by hear. But suddenly I
had a flashback to the one-day that Ms. Romano decided to teach in Health
class, and I recalled those hideous pictures of the STDs and decided it wasn’t
worth it. (My decision had nothing to do with the fact that this chick was so
hot I couldn’t even buy an STD from her).
It felt like I was sitting there for hours, playing all
these thoughts in my mind. It was 9:49.
The next person in this circus was a man who looked like a terrorist. Or
to be politically correct, he is more likely to engage in terrorist activities
than be a Nascar driver. This future-suspect was distraught about how long he
has been waiting and why everyone keeps be called ahead of him. The
receptionist kept pretending to ask the doctor what’s causing the delay, when
really she was just waiting for the FBI to arrive. Now this is why America
keeps getting attacked, “these people” don’t like to wait for appointments so
they call back home and decide to get even: kill a couple thousands people
until finally we learn punctuality. He whipped his computer for his bag of evil
and began typing away rapidly, either he was hacking into the doctor’s patient
schedule to move his name up or giving the “green light” to another attack.
Personally I was hoping it was the 2nd option because I was I had
places to be and I couldn’t afford to wait any longer.
Next my dad turns to me and says “Wow look over there, one
of my patients is here”. I reply with “Dad, look around. Everyone here besides
you me and that babe across the room is crazy. You need to narrow it down for
me”. This next part is very sad. Dad- “What babe? You mean Rachel” Me- “How do
you know her name?” Dad-“That’s the patient I’m talking about”. This was
devastating news. I was just beginning to accept the fact that she had god
knows what STD, but now she is one of my dad’s crazy patients. Still, I was
weighting the consequences but at least my dad had her number on file just in
case.
The clock struck 10:15 and the nurse called me in. It was
finally time, the moment I was so nervous for. The only bright side was it
would be good practice for college where I plan to develop a cocaine addiction
with Rachel. I heard a baby bugging out
crying in the other room, I thought hopefully his crying would drown out mine.
My doctor could not have been anymore of a bitch. I asked a simple question, to
see Rachel’s test results. I wasn’t aware doctor patient confidentiality applied
to future-spouses. It was probably a bad idea to piss of the person sticking
you with a needle but that’s my luck. Did I mention the doctor was a woman? I
have nothing against female doctors, as long as it doesn’t interfere with her
work in her primary office…the kitchen. (Just kidding I think women can do any
job a man can do. As long as they get paid significantly less and provide daily
sandwiches I’m fine with it). She starts apply rubbing alcohol onto my forearm,
the only way that shit is gonna help is if it’s going in my mouth (with a
chaser of course) instead of my arm. Then she pulls out two big tubes and hands
them to me. I begin to chuckle, always a fan of doctor humor. Until she says
“What’s so funny. Hold these while I go get your other two.”
At that point I should’ve ran out while I had a chance but I
remembered seeing one of the little girls get cookies after they took her
blood. And boy was in the mood for some cookies, so I decided to man up and
stay…for the love of cookies. She returned. I turned my eyes away, as I am
deathly afraid of blood. She stuck the needle into my arm and stole 3.5 tubes
of my blood, and it was surprisingly painless. I was proud of myself for
surviving, until I began to feel light-headed. I decided to find the cookies
and peace asap, while I still had my pride. I bolt out of the room and see the
tray of cookies is empty. Now I’m depressed, but way too dizzy to start an
argument over cookies. A strongly worded email would be sent at a later date.
Me and my dad (my dad and I) busted out of this hellhole to the elevator. If I
wanted to loss half my blood I would’ve donated it to the red cross. At least
they would’ve given me cookies. Before I make it half way to the elevator I see
a water fountain so I stop for a drink, it’s broken. I am no energy left and
decide to sit on the ground. My dad asks “Did they take your blood or give you
some LCD?”. I could only say “At this point LCD is the best bet” My father
becomes growly concerned as he realizes my pain is real. I begin to turn pale,
I’m sweating, and I can’t see straight. My dad, being the wonderful doctor that
he is, decides to take down the shaky elevator and out the revolving door.
Finally I reach the fresh air, where I plant myself on the pavement. “I don’t
care what you say, but for the next 5 minutes this piece of concrete is my
bed”. In all my dad’s years of medical
practice I don’t think he has ever seen anything like this. He said I shouldn’t
feel this weak after losing just 1 tube of blood. “One tube? What the hell do
you mean 1 tube?” Dad-“That’s what the doctor said for them to take, one
tube”….Me- “I’m gonna burn this **** place down”. Dad- “Wait why’s the bandage
on your right arm, how are you gonna play basketball?” Me- “It’s not , it’s on
my left…(I look at my arms)…Fuck.”
