"Am I supposed to be waiting for something?" asks he.
"O. No. You're all set to go. Just grab some cookies on the way out," says the Nurse.
The same legs carry him Shamelessly to his bag, and even out of the building. Although now, the lightness within his physical and mental capacity seeps out.
"I wonder if I'm fatigued because I expect to be so, or if I really am out of it," he thinks.
Or. Did he say it out loud?
Yes, that's it. He said it out loud to the a group of people, while bracing himself upon a table. As he continued to hear the endearingly preposterous words spew from his mouth, he realized that he indeed was "out of it."
His blood was now packaged, and waiting to be tested for infections. Once it passes, it will be sent off to those in need. The Nurse said it would save two lives.
He saved two lives today.
His left arm became a temporarily useless excuse for a limb, thus causing him to think.
"Wow. I don't know how amputees do it."
But if they were armless for a lifetime, then surely he was Shameless enough to endure a semi-functional dangling appendage for a day.
As he walks to the Lounge he sees an ambulance parked along the street, lights flashing. Paramedics approached him pushing a medical bed while tailing the Security Guard in his golf cart.
Did they know he was about to pass out from donating blood? Is that why that had come?
No. The passed by, and became a myth in the distance. He hopes no one is in serious trouble. Maybe they could use the blood he just gave?
As he plops down in the lounge the room of budding intellectuals greets him with ,perhaps, half caring and sarcastic banter. It's funny after all. Remember?
"As he continued to hear the endearingly preposterous words spew from his mouth, he realized that he indeed was "out of it.""
They realized as well.
The Man Drescher very kindly left to get The Shameless One a coke, while the Texicana recounted a horrible instance of her last blood donation attempt.
Small Vein + Big Needle = Fail
He returned with a "diet" coke, and the Vagabond was so out of it that he took a sip of the carcinogen in a can. The horror. This sincere gesture was not helping to revive wit or stamina. The only thing it did was help him think of how much he hated diet products, and for a moment the bloody blazon seemed regrettable.
At least. Until a battle ridden solider in Iraq needs a donor. Until a child's life depends on it.
He'll take a diet coke for them.
It's the least he could do.