I'm Lazy, Not Homeless

Another early morning, but at least I’m learning the ropes.  We pulled into the plasma donation center around five-till-six and there was a small line beginning to wrap around the building.

There are obvious props to getting here early, like being the first in, the first to sign-in; however, as a new donor, you have to complete some sort of initiation—testing, a mini physical, a couple things to sign, and a binder to read.  It’s like a special club or frat.  The new members get treated like shit, but once you make it through initiation, things get better.

The line has moved pretty fast for the regulars, which leads me to believe that the early mornings are the best time to come.  The sign-in-name-calling procedure ends around six thirty, and then regular members can just walk in and get in line.  I guess the sign-in sheet only takes precedence in the morning—probably to keep people from killing each other over place in line.  Even though things are very organized (and policed), people who don’t normally donate at this hour still don’t know to sign-in.

Everyone grumbles under their breath about waiting.  There is plenty of dissension in the waiting area.  You can tell who of us are new initiates.  We’re the only ones sitting in the waiting area now.  Some of whom have headphones.  The kind that blast music loud enough for everyone to enjoy or at least hear.  It’s seven and the first new donors are being called.

You may have heard people, probably teachers, old people, and techies say or complain that no one reads books anymore.  Well, the people who say this have never waited in line at a plasma donation clinic.  Lots of people are reading books here; there’s nothing else to do.

There’s no such thing as easy money.