Blood donations tickle a strange combination of laziness, arrogance, sanctimony and altruism at least in me.  I like getting out of work for an hour while theoretically helping someone and I think a part of me thinks that who ever receives my blood donation will gain my superhuman powers of analogy.  Should sanguinous skill transfer ever pan out, I demand a pint of Carl Zimmer.  The donation itself was unremarkable and my donation person joked that donations were really a cover to implant Americans with some sort of tracking device used for sinister purposes.  I guess they make cell phones.

After the donation (I’m tempted to write “withdraw”) I sat at the snack table, received a bottle of water and bag of mini pretzels and waited for the whatever else would be joining that snack line-up.  There was none.  After, literally taking a pound of me, I received no juice, cookies, or much of anything that could prevent hypoglycemia.  At this rate, two or three blood drives from now donors will simply receive a plastic spoon with which to dig into a bowl of table sugar next to a water fountain.