That Red Sticky Stuff

My school's annual blood drive was today. It actually wasn't as big a deal as previous years. In the past there have been extremely militant students roving around school getting within inches of your face to ask in a dangerous voice, "Are you going to give blood this year???? Why not? Well, you should anyway. Think of all those people who die everyday because people like you refuse to grant them the few drops of blood that could save them." Then they pull out a gun and threaten to get your blood then and there, and you decide that maybe you'd rather face a needle. But you have to gulp it down and confess to your aggressor, "Um, but I'm only 15..?" The person then grumbles and moves away to the next person, hopefully at an eligible age to donate blood.

This year, however, I am 17, old enough to donate as long as my parents graciously sign a slip of paper that says the precious blood of their offspring may be put in another person's veins. I didn't need anybody to poke a gun in my face to make me donate blood. I was all too willing to join the que of students in the school gym eagerly pushing up their sleeves and begging for needles to be pushed in their arms.

I was actually the last person to be taken in before the makeshift clinic closed. They weren't open as long as previous years, either. A couple of teachers were denied their wish to give blood because they did not accept anyone who came after the bell rang. At least I managed to fulfill my desire and my duty to mankind. There is now 360-something more milliliters of blood to give to some poor, dying soul to sustain it and bring it back to life. I left with a content heart, a light head, and a pink badge to prove myself. On an equally heart-warming note, I have been accepted to Carnegie Mellon and waitlisted to Columbia Fu School of Engineering. Visiting college campuses in April will not be in vain!

Pointy needles won't be in vein, either, unfortunately. Not for another eight weeks, at least.