In the past, Marlena found it to be “easy enough” to get her blood drawn. Or as easy as one could hope for when it came to such a thing. She realized the day she showed up for her latest appointment—made at the yearly behest of her doctor—that she had been severely spoiled in the past by what can be referred to as “deft” phlebotomists. Phlebotomists who would simply get right down to business without a lot of chitchat beforehand that only served to make the process all the more anxiety-inducing. It’s not the sort of affair one wants to be “loosened up” for, so much as the type of affair one wants to get the fuck over with. Bradley, who was quick to introduce himself as such, didn’t appear to understand that very key aspect of dealing with “patients” having their blood drawn. Instead, it was clear that he believed it was the perfect time for light-hearted conversation. 

Then again, Marlena couldn’t help but muse, maybe he only thought that with specific regard to her. She didn’t want to be conceited or anything, but she knew she was attractive—a quality that would especially stand out in a place like this. Initially, Marlena was obliged to play his game, not wanting to do anything to upset a man that would soon be “sticking” her…with a needle. Knowing how sadistic men can be, any so-called aloof or disinterested behavior on her part could result in him being too rough with the needle. Or, worse still, allowing blood to gush out of the hole. In the end though, her attempts at “polite engagement” were useless, because she could feel how shoddily the blood was (not) pumping into the vial, at which point he decided to stop the botched process.

But before that could happen, he had so much more to say to her. And since she was “playing nice,” she did her best to laugh along and come up with pertinent questions related to what he was saying. The questions she asked, unfortunately, weren’t the right ones, because they didn’t boost his ego or confirm his “manhood.” Case in point, she decided to inquire, “So how long have you been doing this?” He probably thought she was pegging him for some Doogie Howser type (even though he wouldn’t know that reference). Insulting his “phlebotomy prowess.” That’s why he was quick to respond with a clipped, but dominant-sounding, “Two years.” 

Marlena would have been content to leave it at that, but no, Bradley had to keep going on about it, “subtly” assuring her of his qualifications. “Actually, did you know California is the only state that requires you to get certified training in phlebotomy?” 

“No, I didn’t… But you’d think that would be the norm everywhere, wouldn’t you?” 

He did not answer her apparently rhetorical question. Later, when she looked up whether or not that was actually true, she saw that Louisiana, Nevada and Washington also required certification or “licensure” to be a phlebotomist. Maybe Bradley was just overly enthusiastic about the superiority of California, and that’s why he chose to leave out the other states. Maybe he genuinely didn’t know. Which wouldn’t be surprising, considering he didn’t seem to know much about phlebotomy at all. Even though he very much wanted to flex his knowledge on the subject, further informing Marlena about how “big, hard” veins can be mistaken for tendons and vice versa. He grinned expectantly at her after saying the words “big” and “hard,” as though he genuinely thought she was going to titter about it like they were still in junior high. In truth, this whole exchange was starting to feel as though it was bordering dangerously close to sexual harassment. 

Perhaps Bradley was picking up on that vibe, too. Marlena surmised as much when, after being unable to “perform” for her, he snapped, “You seem really nervous so I’m just going to call my coworker so you don’t have to get stuck more than twice now.” According to Bradley, they were only allowed to attempt “sticking it” three times before they had to stop. Marlena wasn’t so sure about that, but then, you never know what arbitrary rules are in place these days to assure that a business or industry doesn’t get slapped with a lawsuit. 

I seem nervous my ass, Marlena wanted to reply. You’re the one who’s so fucking nervous because I’m way hotter than your usual clientele. And it was true, the majority of people who showed up to this office were, let’s just say it, olds. This being an observation Marlena brought up to Anna, the second phlebotomist (mercifully, a woman) that came in to finish what Bradley barely started. Anna confirmed that, indeed, it was generally only the elderly who were instructed to get blood tests as a means to keep regular tabs on their ever-declining health. “Young people like us don’t really have to do this,” Anna added. 

Marlena thought, Then why the fuck am I the only asshole under seventy in here? Oh right, because I’m the simp who obeys the doctor’s orders.

As Anna proceeded to competently find a viable vein and draw blood from it, Bradley called out from another room, “The computer is frozen, what should I do?”

Without batting an eyelash, Anna shouted back, “Try turning it off, then on! What am I? The IT person now, too?” Marlena laughed at this, prompting Anna to continue, “Doesn’t matter what age they are, men are all useless.”

Meanwhile, the blood kept pumping out of her arm…she couldn’t help but notice. Anna, in turn, noticed her noticing and kept talking to dilute Marlena’s focus. “Pretend you’re not even here right now.” 

“I’m not.” And it’s true, Marlena was an adroit astral projector, so to speak. One had to be in order to get by in this life, which so favored the stupid. Like Bradley, for example, who couldn’t even draw blood from a “hot girl” without biffing it and then trying to somehow blame the girl in question for being the problem in the scenario. Bradley, who probably made fifty thousand dollars a year—a salary Marlena would never be able to earn. Forever stuck at her middling, thirty-thousand-dollar-a-year receptionist job instead. Not that she would trade office “work” for a “career” in phlebotomy. She could never. Didn’t have the stomach for such a thing. And clearly, Bradley didn’t either. Yet here he still was: faking it until not making it. Calling in someone else to do his job for him. And of course it was a woman. A human who wasn’t controlled by a penis. And yes, in truth, women were actually less squeamish than men, when you got right down to it. There’s a reason they’re the ones tasked with the “miracle” of childbirth, after all. 

Anna was proof of that lack of squeamishness as she went on to fill yet another vial, continuing to chat away in a non-lascivious manner so as to keep Marlena distracted. “So what are you doing after this?”

“Oh, I don’t know…maybe going to the grocery store.”

“Phew. Kind of relieved by your answer.”

“Why?”

“Because I haven’t asked that question to anyone since I did to some old guy and his response was: ‘Why? Are you asking me out on a date?’”

Marlena smiled. “He was shooting his shot, I guess. Nothing to lose.”

“Never thought of it like that.” A suction-y noise was made as Anna funneled the last of the blood into the final vial. 

When Marlena reflected on what she had just said, she supposed the same was true of Bradley. He might not have been a “desperate old man,” and yet, he was. That was what they all were, at heart. Constantly “shooting their shot” in an attempt to shoot their load. But all Marlena wanted to do was shoot her goddamn hemoglobin load and get the fuck out. Which she did after thirty minutes spent in that little room—surely a world record for the amount of time taken to complete a routine blood extraction.