I Say Manufactured Humor is Still Humor... That Was Supposed to be Funny...

Do people actually read those magazines lying around in hospital waiting rooms? Holy crap Hilary Duff is pregnant? When the hell did that... Oh, I guess people do read them...maybe... if they're bored. So there I was, not reading People magazine, in a nameless health clinic in some nameless area of town. You can tell at first glance that the walls in our tiny area were attempting valiantly to be white, but fell short and ended up some sort of faint yellow; almost like a legal pad that's been out in the sun for a year or two. My buddy Scott and I have been sitting for probably a week at this point, at least it feels like it. We're here to get physicals and shots before we both head off to college. I'm heading to New York and Scott is off to Reno. I think we'll be fine. We've been good friends for so long I couldn't imagine something as silly as distance ending that. I'm more worried about Scott and is freaking dog. He loves that thing. He may or may not stuff it in a bag and sneak him up to college. Poor dog. The tired looking receptionist leaves her perch with a squak (or a sigh, can't remember which) and hand us both a clip board with a form on it. The form asked, rather politely and respectfully, that while we were being seen by the physician, if we would like to get tested for HIV/AIDS. I figured, "Why not? I'm already here, it's free, and better safe than sorry." Scott, on the other hand, seemed offended. "Why would they even ask me this? Do I look like someone who gets involved in that crap? I'm a good kid, I don't fool around with needles and whores." He wasn't lying. We were both pretty decent kids. We both had been sexually active with maybe one or two girls each, but far from what some consider "whoredom". I suppose HIV/AIDS is something that only happens to people dirty enough to get caught up in all that. I still had to hand in my form that showed I requested the procedure. I checked it off in pen after all.

My name is FINALLY called, and I proceed with all my fun shots and uncomfortable coughs. "Oh", glancing at his clipboard, "So you've decided to perform the HIV test?" He then pulls out what looks like a syringe, but it can't possibly be a syringe because it's terrifyingly massive! The doctor mercilessly stabs his needle into my veins. I try to fight, but I'm tied down all of a sudden. I cower and close my eyes. I used to be okay with slasher flicks before this, but never again. I was sure I was dead. I was dead. I died I'm dead I died I'm dead I died I died I'm dead I... Oh I'm okay. The doctor put a Gauss ball and band aid over my arm and sent me on my way. I walked out, not quite sure what had just happened. I made it a point to forget about it, and I did, at least until some rather bored sounding woman called me a week later and told me that I was negative. That was a relief. I don't think my friends could handle losing another pal to the same illness. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go feed Scott's dog. He's not around anymore.