I went to the doctor today. I got a blood test.

While waiting in the waiting room, I scanned the other patients waiting.

Patient #1: Elderly lady with a farting problem. She continued to let it rip. Not a single “excuse me” or “was that me?!”. Nope, just a pffft and back to reading O.

Patient #2: Dentures… This guy who must’ve been in his 70s kept playing with his dentures. He’d take ‘em out, examine them, put them back in his mouth, flip ‘em around with his tongue, and then reposition them. Over… and over… and over…

Patient #3: Korean couple who brought in their car insurance and tried to say that their plan was inclusive of their car and their health. I felt bad for them. They tried to work with the language barrier, and the laughing other patients didn’t help. It must’ve been incredibly frustrating to be on their side, as well as the receptionist’s side. Either someone sold them a bum insurance deal or Geico has added a new health plan. I gotta be honest though… it was kinda humorous.

Patient #4: Elderly lady with the cane. She came in while the Korean couple were arguing about the insurance situation. She tried to get the “Sign In” sheet from the receptionist but Patient #3 was wielding her arms up and down, screaming. She almost hit Patient #4, which would have been pretty damn ugly since she looked so frail.

And then there was me. Patient #5. I didn’t know how to keep myself occupied cuz I knew I was gonna get my blood drawn in a matter of minutes.

I don’t do well with pain. Not. At. All. I’m phobic of pain. I’d make a serial killer very happy if he wanted to torture someone. All he’d need to do is pretend to pinch me and I’d howl in pain.

When the time came for the nurse to draw blood, I looked at her and smiled.

“Please don’t hurt me,” I said as I flashed my puppy dog eyes.

“Oh, are you squeamish?”

“No… I don’t mind blood… but pain?”

“This won’t hurt one bit,” she said as she pulled a rubber tourniquet around my bicep. I watched as my veins started to pop out, waiting to spew blood all over the examining room.

“Are you sure? I mean, when I get a flu shot, my parents had to chase me around the room,” I said as I was looking towards the door, away from her murderous syringe. “I mean, and like, go figure… I'm getting a tattoo. I’m scared of pain… yet, I want a tattoo."

“All done,” she said as she pulled off the rubber band from my arm. “Hold the gauze here so the blood doesn’t spurt.”

I looked down at my arm and saw the gauze… and a tiny blot of blood seeping through.

Oh my God, that didn't hurt at all!

"Do you want a Flintstone or a regular bandage,” she asked, half-mockingly.

“Regular,” I said.

“Now, did that hurt,” she asked.

“No,” I replied, as I lifted the gauze and saw the cavernous bloody hole (now that would be a killer name for a rock band) in the crook of my arm.

“Next time, I’ll give you a lollipop.”