Cubicle Number 3

Good grief.
I went to get routine blood work done yesterday and didn't know whether to laugh spasmodically or cry sobbingly.
I may be exaggerating just a little.
But seriously...
I sit down in the waiting room with  my pulled number 26 and sneak a peek at my closest neighbour's number...22. Darn. It's gonna be a while.
It is then that I notice the numerical counter bracketed to the wall which displays a nasty red number 18. Bigger Darn. It is gonna be longer than I originally thought.
But where were all the people?
Must be out for a smoke.
As I begin settling in, pulling out my travel mug full of coffee (which comes in handy when you have to give a urine sample ;) and my notebook, (which comes in handy when observing people acting idiotically) I notice a disturbing detail on one of the lab tech's face.
No, not a zit.
A medical mask.
Now,
I am already acutely aware that I am surrounded by "sick" people, (that's usually the precursor to bloodwork) and now the woman about to push metal into my vein is wearing a protective mask? Protective for her? or for us?
At least they weren't handing them out at the door.
So after waiting...umm...long enough for me to be annoyed but short enough that my $6 parking ticket hadn't yet expired, I was called to cubicle number 3.
To wait some more.
When the reception lady brought back my medical card and requisition form, she said "Just keep your card out for a bit."
The person, whom I can only assume was of the female gender by the shrill sound of her voice (sometimes you can't tell you know.) started freaking out that she was there first and they better serve her before me. (Serve sounds so pleasant, as if awaiting a cup of tea at a historical Tea House. THEY ARE TAKING OUR BLOOD!!!)
Anyway, after being assured she was next, I pictured her tucking her feathers as she settled down.
As I sat, sipping my coffee in cubicle number 3 (might as well make a one-person date of it, no?) I heard a man enter the waiting room, asking how long of a wait it would be since his parking ticket was about to run out.
"Oh about five or ten minutes. Just have a seat."
LIES!
I waited longer than that in the cubicle alone, never mind TOTAL wait time.
The poor sucker sat down.
With my coffee downed and my cup cold, the lab tech sauntered in to my cozy little square box.
It was finally my turn. Yay!
Only she couldn't find a vein.
I had purposely given her my left arm, knowing it was tricky, but wanting to protect my retired right arm. The obvious right-armed vein, glowing blue through  my skin, has so much scar tissue from being so helpfully generous over my 28 years of diabetes and other random health issues that it screams, "I'm done!"
Which leads me to my next thought.
Since cholesterol clogs the arteries, can one have a heart attack or stroke from too much scar tissue in a vein?
I really wish not to risk it.
But, she assured me since it was the only vein she could find, (weird since lab techs who are skilled at their job have done just fine since my right arm's retirement) she would go higher up and avoid the scar tissue.
I have the mark of the giant pin prick to prove otherwise.
Well, thanks again, my good old faithful friend. (The vein I mean, not the lab tech.)
At least I got a compliment on my stylin' brown boots while I was there.
That made it all worth it.
Except of course, the heart attack part.
That could be a bit troublesome. ;)