So after having slaved away for the ol' corp. for over eight years, I finally got a window seat. Not a window office, but a window seat. It's not even a window cube, but a pseudo cube. We have cube walls that outline an area large enough to seat anywhere from four to six nerds, and our work areas face the cube walls for the most part. Fortune having shone down upon me, I landed, during the last reshuffling of departmental humans, in a corner the allows me to face the window.
Ah, what a splendid view of the parking lot and three pine trees have I! When things get stressful and I have to handle yet another emergency due to the unending faults of others, I just look out amongst the Hondas, Toyotas, Dodges, and my lowly Saturn, and think to myself, "Wow, I'd really like to have that 4x4 Cummins turbo diesel Dodge Ram pickup over there."
But today my view, for the morning, was a bit different due to the white hulk of a BloodMobile having displaced about six perfectly good autos. Someone asked me if I am a donater of the red stuff, and I replied that I had a few times, but it's been a while. The last time I did it I put the lady next to me to shame--I filled my bag with premium red stuff in less than half the time it took her to meet her quota.
I then went on wondering aloud, much to the amusement of those within earshot, as to why the most important person in the whole blood donation pyramid scheme receives no monetary compensation. The doctor that orders a transfusion probably makes a few hundred dollars just to tell the nurse, "Make it so." And the nurse, who is probably working three twelves and getting paid for forty, is making a nice salary as well. Not to mention the CEO of the hospital wherein the poor patient lies, and the head of the organization that is recruiting you and I to give up a pint now and then to "save lives."
So why can't they just dip into this giant pool of money that they're all getting paid from and give $20 to the plucky individual who spends the next few days manufacturing a new pint of blood? They only supply soft drink and cookie rations to keep the weak ones from fainting--it's not even meant to be a reward.
It all seems kind of shifty to me. They always need blood of all types. Short blood, tall blood, skinny blood, fat blood, smart blood, stupid blood, young blood, old blood, and most of all, your blood. But when was the last time you heard of someone dying because they ran out of blood? That's right--never! They have so much they have to throw away oodles of it when it goes rotten. If they really, really need it, they'd find a way to pay $20 for a bit of my red, juicy, goodness. And if someone is depending on a pint of my coolant to pull them through a rough night, I'm sure they'd be more than happy to tack another $20 onto their $32,475.82 hospital bill.
Today they were offering a free pizza or a Starbucks beverage to all who came forth to donate. While this is certainly a step in the right direction, it still falls a bit short when you consider that one has to sit with a huge needle stuck in their arm while squeezing the squeezy thing for five or ten minutes while you listen to the nurses chat about how they're so tired because they are on day three of the three twelves and how they're going to enjoy the next four days.
So maybe I'll feel the love of humankind welling up within my soul the next time that creepy vehicle takes my parking spot. That'll probably be more likely if they park in back, like they did in the past, and I get my usual parking spot; and I won't have to watch pale-faced do-gooders with a sticker that proves their charity stumbling back to the office all morning.
Ah, what a splendid view of the parking lot and three pine trees have I! When things get stressful and I have to handle yet another emergency due to the unending faults of others, I just look out amongst the Hondas, Toyotas, Dodges, and my lowly Saturn, and think to myself, "Wow, I'd really like to have that 4x4 Cummins turbo diesel Dodge Ram pickup over there."
But today my view, for the morning, was a bit different due to the white hulk of a BloodMobile having displaced about six perfectly good autos. Someone asked me if I am a donater of the red stuff, and I replied that I had a few times, but it's been a while. The last time I did it I put the lady next to me to shame--I filled my bag with premium red stuff in less than half the time it took her to meet her quota.
I then went on wondering aloud, much to the amusement of those within earshot, as to why the most important person in the whole blood donation pyramid scheme receives no monetary compensation. The doctor that orders a transfusion probably makes a few hundred dollars just to tell the nurse, "Make it so." And the nurse, who is probably working three twelves and getting paid for forty, is making a nice salary as well. Not to mention the CEO of the hospital wherein the poor patient lies, and the head of the organization that is recruiting you and I to give up a pint now and then to "save lives."
So why can't they just dip into this giant pool of money that they're all getting paid from and give $20 to the plucky individual who spends the next few days manufacturing a new pint of blood? They only supply soft drink and cookie rations to keep the weak ones from fainting--it's not even meant to be a reward.
It all seems kind of shifty to me. They always need blood of all types. Short blood, tall blood, skinny blood, fat blood, smart blood, stupid blood, young blood, old blood, and most of all, your blood. But when was the last time you heard of someone dying because they ran out of blood? That's right--never! They have so much they have to throw away oodles of it when it goes rotten. If they really, really need it, they'd find a way to pay $20 for a bit of my red, juicy, goodness. And if someone is depending on a pint of my coolant to pull them through a rough night, I'm sure they'd be more than happy to tack another $20 onto their $32,475.82 hospital bill.
Today they were offering a free pizza or a Starbucks beverage to all who came forth to donate. While this is certainly a step in the right direction, it still falls a bit short when you consider that one has to sit with a huge needle stuck in their arm while squeezing the squeezy thing for five or ten minutes while you listen to the nurses chat about how they're so tired because they are on day three of the three twelves and how they're going to enjoy the next four days.
So maybe I'll feel the love of humankind welling up within my soul the next time that creepy vehicle takes my parking spot. That'll probably be more likely if they park in back, like they did in the past, and I get my usual parking spot; and I won't have to watch pale-faced do-gooders with a sticker that proves their charity stumbling back to the office all morning.
Comments