Blood in the Parking Lot

I was at work the other day, busily sawing a monitor in half with a spork. I’m not entirely sure why I was doing this, but seeing as how I was almost halfway done, I figured I should just finish. ‘If it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing to a psychotic extreme’ as my dad used to say. And then he’d hit me with a fish.

NOTE: I have no idea where he got or even kept the fish. In fact, I have no idea what kind of fish it was or even if it was the same fish. Was it a magic fish? Was there some sort of blood-debt involved? Had my father saved a Fish Prince and his reward was to always have a fresh fish at hand? That would explain a few things, except for why the fish were wearing little hats.

So, as I was sawing, a few coworkers passed by and I distinctly heard the phrase ‘taking blood in the parking lot’ pass between them. I dropped my spork, having instantly arrived at the obvious conclusion: there were vampires outside and they were ambushing people and drinking their blood.

Seeing as it was 2 in the afternoon and sunny out, I probably should have really thought things through, but I was busily trying to find something I could turn into a stake. A modern office, if you’ve never noticed, is remarkably lacking in wood.

Oh, there’s plastic, metal, cloth, whatever ceiling tiles are made of, and an abundance of carpeting, plenty of coworkers (useful as distractions, sure), but not a lot of wood. There aren’t even any pencils.

At long last, I found a pair of slight-used take-out chopsticks and after securely taping them together, I was ready to purge our parking lot of the undead.

“If anybody asks,” I told my coworker. “I’ll be out front killing vampires.”

“Sure,” was his response. This is generally how he responds to everything I do.

Now armed, I went forth to do battle.

The first thing I noticed was that there was a large van parked right next to the entrance. It had ‘Puget Sound Blood Center’ in big letters on one side, but I assumed this was merely a ruse on the part of the vampires. I snuck up on the door, tested it, and steeled myself for a life-and-death struggle with some really good looking, but very pale people.

I yanked the door open and leapt in, chopsticks raised, only to find a short woman in a white coat with a clipboard.

“Hi,” she said. “Are you here for the 2:00?”

“No, I’m here to destroy you and your nefarious schemes!” is what I wanted to say, but instead, I said “What?”

“The 2:00 appointment to donate blood.”

“Ummm . . . no.”

“Oh. Well, we have an open spot anyway. Did you want to donate?”

“Not really. I’m afraid of needles. And fish in hats.”

“Are you sure? Donating blood is vitally important . . . “ She kept talking, but I was distracted by one of our artists sitting on a couch with a band aid on his arm, eating a cookie.

“Do I get a cookie?” I interrupted.

“Sure.”

“Sign me up.”

One form, two needles, a few tears, and about twenty minutes later, I was happily eating a lemon snickerdoodle. The techs were very nice and they laughed politely when I told them I had been planning on killing them both with a pair of slightly-used chopsticks.

Or it might have been a nervous chuckle. I’m not really sure.

Cheers,
-Jason

P.S. In all seriousness, if you can, donate blood. It helps a lot of people and they give you cookies afterwards.