I walk into the office a little late. A group of coworkers spots me.

Coworker: “Where have you been?”

Me: “I donated some blood. I do it every three months or so. [Manager] knows about it and it’s always on the calendar.”

Coworker: “Every three months?! But… what if you run out?”

Me: “Uh… no. The body can replenish itself over time. That’s why they recommend every three months at the maximum.”

Coworker: “But you can’t make new blood! That’s why whenever someone loses blood, they need to transfuse new blood into them!”

Me: “And where do you think that new blood comes from, [Coworker]?”

Other Coworker #1: *In a teasing tone.* “It’s true… everyone who donates blood eventually dies.”

Other Coworker #2: *Unable to suppress a smile.* “And people that don’t, live for the rest of their life.”

Coworker: *Pointing at the other coworkers, but looking at me.* “See?!”

Me: *To the other coworkers.* “Why are you enabling him?”

Other Coworker #1: “Because it’s just… so… easy!”

I’m a volunteer at a local blood drive, checking people in and making sure they’re hydrated and informed. A middle-aged man approaches the table, looking suspiciously at the donation chairs.

Me: “Hi there! Donating today?”

Man: “I was thinking about it, but I have a question first.”

Me: “Sure, go ahead.”

Man: “If I give blood, will it mess with my DNA? Like… permanently?”

Me: *Blinking.* “No, sir. It’s just under a pint of blood; your body regenerates it in a few weeks.”

Man: “Hmm. Still. I’ve worked hard to keep my system clean. I don’t want anyone else’s energy getting mixed with mine.”

Me: “You don’t get someone else’s blood, just give your own.”

Man: “But where does it go? What if someone out there ends up with my DNA? I don’t want that liability.”

Me: “Sir, we’re taking blood donations, not creating clones.”

To give him credit, he did donate, but kept asking for reassurance that we weren’t going to use his DNA for nefarious schemes.

I was at the front desk when I got a call from a furious potential blood donor. He was extremely upset that he never got a reminder about his appointment, which he’d missed. I apologized as best I could and went to check his information to verify we had it correctly in our system.

Me: “What is your phone number?”

Volunteer: “I’m not giving you that! You call too often!”

Me: “Okay, I understand. Do you have an email address?”

Volunteer: “Of course not! I don’t want to be bothered by all that spam!”

Me: “Okay. Can you confirm your mailing address? We can send reminder cards a week ahead of the appointment.”

Volunteer: “I’m not giving you that information — it’s personal!!”

Me: “Can you at least give me your account number? I might be able to find the information I need that way.”

Volunteer: “I never got an account number! Nobody ever gave me one!!”

Me: “I’m sorry, without any sort of personal information, we don’t have a way to inform you of upcoming appointments. Would you be willing to give me some sort of contact information so we can send you reminders?”

Volunteer: “That’s none of your business! I want to talk to your manager!”

Sadly, the manager wasn’t able to convince him that we needed SOME sort of contact info if he wanted reminders, not even after half an hour of patient explanation.

Just when you think people couldn’t get any stupider or more stubborn.

My friend prefers not to drive after donating blood, and as I can’t donate myself, I’m happy to help out by giving them a lift. I usually just hang out, and once I tell the people running it I’m just the designated driver, there’s no problem. How it usually works is you sign in and then wait, and then they call you back to finish checking in and getting your temperature check, iron levels, etc.

This time at the blood drive, my friend signs in, I say I’m the driver, and we go and sit down with a few other people. After a few minutes, someone comes by and addresses me.

Worker #1: “Ma’am, do you need to finish checking in? There’s a station open.”

Me: “No, I’m just here as the driver.”

Worker #1: “Oh, okay.”

The worker wanders off. My friend gets called to finish checking in. I’m just on my phone, mindlessly playing games, when another worker comes over.

Worker #2: “Ma’am, do you need to finish checking in?”

Me: “No, I’m just here as the driver for my friend. They said it was okay to sit here.”

Worker #2: “It is; you’re fine.”

I keep playing games, but I’m a little confused since I don’t usually get questioned. Then, it happens a third time! Once more, I explain that I’m driving my friend and ask if I should sit somewhere else. They reassure me it’s fine to wait there.

Finally, someone comes over and surveys the few people gathered there.

Worker #3: “Riley? Is there a Riley here?”

A young man nearby stood up. The worker looked surprised but led him off to finish checking in.

It suddenly dawned on me. I was the only woman near the donor waiting area! They kept seeing Riley on the check-in sheet, and instead of calling it out, they assumed it was a girl’s name and had to be mine. Once Riley was all checked in, no one bothered me again, and my friend finished giving blood without an issue.

CONTENT WARNING: Needles, Blood

I used to pass by a blood donation clinic every time I went home. After a while, I decided to go in and do my part. But after talking with them, I was not able to set up an appointment because I didn’t have my medical card with me. So, I walked the two blocks to my home and came back with my card so I could set up an appointment.

I was taken into another room, talked through a questionnaire, and then taken into a waiting room, and that’s when I realized, “Oh. I thought we were setting up an appointment time for me to come back later. But nope, this is happening RIGHT NOW.”

I wasn’t expecting it to happen right away like that, but I didn’t have anything else planned, so… I just went with it.

Eventually, I was brought back, and they stuck me. I’m not exactly squeamish when it comes to needles; in fact, I always thought it was super cool to watch my blood shooting into the vial when I had to get a blood test. But the one thing I’m not cool with is watching the needle actually enter my flesh. So, the technician came over, I looked away, they stuck me, and… they missed my vein, so they took it back out again.

Technician: “Can we try your other arm?”

Me: “I’d rather you do the same one again.”

Technician: “Actually, we can’t… It has to be the other one.”

Me: “Oh. Okay. Yeah, try the other arm.”

Technician: “You’re such a trooper!”

So, I got stuck again, and this one took. As soon as they were done, I looked back to watch. My eyes widened, and I jerked my head back in shock.

Technician: “Oh, yeah, it’s a big needle.”

I asked, and it was a 16-gauge needle. For the uninitiated, that means it was just a little bit smaller than the lead in your average wooden pencil.

I have donated several times since. Donors have to do a “cooldown period” afterward where we sit around eating cookies and drinking juice boxes while we’re monitored to make sure we don’t pass out or something. I like to joke with them that the whole donation process is just part of my nefarious plot to get free snacks.