Thursday August 19, 2004

Went to an “O” Party at the Stanford Blood Center today.  Basically, they invited all of their O-type donors to come on the same day.  This seemed both festive and amazingly inefficient.  When they called me yesterday, I was kind of skeptical of the fun-factor, but they promised me a “full course meal.”  I asked them how they were going to pull that off for an event that lasts from 7:30 AM to 7:30 PM, and the lady just gave me some hand-wavey (a new favorite word) description of how they would “probably” have rounds of breakfast, lunch, and dinner.  Really now.

Well, that sounded pretty fun to me, so I went around lunch time to 780 Welch Road.  First thing that happened: “Hey, have an O Party t-shirt!”  Sweet, another t-shirt-I-will-probably-never-wear.  Of course, they didn’t have medium anymore because everyone likes Medium and it wouldn’t be a party if they didn’t run out of Mediums, but they did have a couple crates of Large and Xtra Large (or as one of the other donors muttered, “Xtra Fat”).  I had to turn up the suave factor before I could convince one of them to hunt for at least a Small for me.  I got it.  The place was indeed festive, with paper streamers and balloons and an Elvis cardboard cutout that said, “Thank you, thank you very much.”  

The place was just bustling with way too many O donors and it was clear they could’ve used a few more staff.  At one point they had me in the armchair with the blood pressure-measuring arm band wrapped around me, awaiting the syringe to be inserted.  And I waited.  And waited.  Uh…. Eventually they remembered that I was still sitting there with a pressurized arm and they started the bloodletting (a probable misuse of the word).  The process went without a hitch otherwise, except that they ran out of the red gauze bandages, which have a special place in my heart.  So I got the blue instead.

Out in the waiting room (where they make you sit and wait for 15 minutes after donating to make sure you don’t pass out and fail to demonstrate that giving blood is “fun”), I started counting up the times I have donated in the past year, and realized that I was now eligible for the Six Pack Club, which unfortunately only meant that I get a long-sleeve t-shirt, and not a six pack of any sort, for my contributions.  At least by now they figured out I wanted a Medium, dang it. 

With two t-shirts-I-will-probably-never-wear in hand, my thoughts now turned to more important things.  I had seen no evidence of a full-course meal anywhere, but had been content to just play it cool until now.  Dude… where’s the food… I started asking one nurse, who ask another nurse, and nobody really knew what I was talking about.  They kept mumbling about the cookies and Kudos bars that were at the waiting area table.  No.  This was definitely NOT a full course meal.  Surely, someone knew what I was talking about.  I have never had delusions of people promising me full course meals over the telephone, and I wasn’t going to start now. 

A gust of wind blew the Elvis cardboard cutout over, his face crumpling lifelessly against the back of a chair, just like the fate of one who has just given blood and is now famished for want of a long-awaited full course meal as promised by a mysterious stranger over the phone the day before (yet remains undelusional about such seemingly ridiculous promises).  Alas, nobody had a clue what I was talking about.  Dejected and famished, I walked out the door (after my 15 minutes of waiting was up), trying to hold on to what little dignity I had left.

Outside, radio station KFRC was apparently sponsoring some more “fun”, as demonstrated by the presence of their fun van and a fun wheel-of-fortune that donors get to spin for additional prizes, like new cars, trips to Hawaii, and, you know, keychains and stuff.  I tried my hand at the wheel, but *just* missed the slot for the new 2005 Toyota Prius and the trip to Hawaii, or whatever was there.  But I got a Stanford Blood Center seat cushion.  (Hey, that’s… um… cool…)  And another O Party t-shirt (apparently last years much-coveted design).  It came in a Medium.

You’d think that 3 t-shirts-I-will-probably-never-wear and a foamy seat cushion would get me off their backs.  No.  I was going to find some food or die trying.  Here we go.  I waved at one of the staff people who was walking past me outside, minding her own business, wearing her O Party t-shirt.  I pressed the issue slowly, unwaveringly.  “I heard there was food…”  She paused in her tracks and blinked a few times, perhaps debating how to best let me down gently.  “Uh… well, if you walk beyond those trees and walk down the stairs in the other building, there’s some food that’s really for the staff but I guess you can have some…”  I was beyond those trees and down the stairs in a jiffy.  And there they were, a bunch of staff in their O Party t-shirts, and me.  “What can I get you?”  The pizza lady had waited, just for me!  Two slices of vegetarian pizza and a scoop with lettuce salad with zesty Italian dressing later, I walked away beaming.  Mission accomplished!

Um…anyone short of t-shirts?  I think I carry the full line of Stanford Blood Center t-shirts now, including the Crimson Donor, the Four-Seasons Club, the Six Pack Club, and of course the O Par-tay series.  Collect them all!