This morning, I had the distinct pleasure of getting my blood drawn. Lisa at work had just recently had her blood drawn at the Culver City Unilab and gave me this helpful hint: “If you get the huge black lady, you’re screwed.”
“Umm… why?”
“Because last time I went, I had her, and she couldn’t find my vein so she just stabbed me in the arm as hard as she could.”
Perhaps this was hyperbole, but I wasn’t about to take it too lightly. “Is she always there?”
“Nope. Sometimes, there is a tiny Mexican woman. She’s gentle.”
“Well, let’s hope I get her.”
As I left the office to go to the lab, my coworkers chanted their assigned mantra on my behalf: “Tiny Mexican…Tiny Mexican… Tiny Mexican…”

Sitting in the waiting room, I was treated to a symphony of screaming children and their mothers. After 40 minutes, the door opened, and I heard my name being called. I got up, certain I would be greeted by a Tiny Mexican. Instead, I was greeted by a huge black lady, her face a mess of razor burn and errant whiskers. Aww, hell, I thought. This is going to hurt.
“This way,” she snapped.

I felt sorry for her. No one wants to be a mess of razor burn and errant whiskers. And probably, no one really wants to work at Unilab. Or be that huge. So I decided to be extremely pleasant, if not to simply make her happy, then to at least diminish some of her rage come pokin’ time.
“Hi! How are you? I have really bad veins, I’m so sorry! The place I usually go to knows how to find them so they don’t hurt, so I’m just a little nervous, since I’ve never been here. How are you?”
“I’m fine. Bad veins, huh? That’s too bad. I bet I can coax ‘em up. Lemme see that arm.” She prodded and poked at my arms. “Yeah, we can get sumpin’ here. Don’t you worry.” And she proceeded to perform one of the most painless blood draws I have ever experienced.

When I got back to the office, Lisa said, “Who’d you get? Tiny Mexican?!”
“Nope. Huge black lady.”
“Oh crap.”

Bookmark this!