Reader note: short story here that I hope to build on if people like it. I'm only recently getting back into storytelling after years of only doing email and presentations for work. Please be gentle.
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Honestly, sometimes I think the Devil himself gets bored and decides to use me as his personal playground. I'm usually good, sweet even -- smart, honest, and, if I do say so myself, pretty damn attractive. Most of the time, my little... adventures are harmless, fun. They're the kind of things that make for great stories later. But every once in a while, things go a bit sideways. Like, community service instead of jail time sideways. That story? That's for another night. But it's how I ended up volunteering at the Community Biologics clinic.
Greg and I had been dating for six months, and let me tell you, it's been a wild ride. Stories for another time, believe me. But this? This was my first real "job" that wasn't serving tables or dealing with the general public. The court order didn't say what I'd be doing, so I was a nervous wreck. Turns out, all that customer service experience paid off. They stuck me at the front desk, doing intake.
During training, I learned they collect blood for hospitals, and pay for plasma and urine. Everything had to be super clean, of course. The intake process was a whole thing. You know, like when you donate blood: forms, questions about drugs and travel, the works. It's all to make sure nothing gets rejected later. My job? Checking IDs -- yeah, people will lie to get paid for plasma, trust me -- and the initial screening. Finger prick for iron, pulse, blood pressure, and looking for track marks. If I saw anything suspicious, they were out.
And that's when the little devil on my shoulder started whispering.
Greg worked days, and I worked nights at the restaurant, plus now, twelve hours a week at the clinic. I didn't see him for a whole week after I started. Finally, I got a quick dinner date before we headed back to his place for "movie" night.
In the car, I filled him in on the clinic. Honestly? It was kind of nice. No one trying to cop a feel, no creepy managers. At the restaurant, I know I use what I've got -- 34D, thank you very much -- to my advantage. It gets me tips, and I like the power. But sometimes, some drunk idiot thinks it's an invitation to grope. Ugh.
Since Greg and I didn't see each other much, I always made sure to dress up for our dates. Tonight, I had on a black top that barely covered my bra and my favorite mini-skirt. Greg loved it. I knew he loved how other guys looked at me, jealous.
Back to the clinic. I told him about the training, the people, my coworkers, Kayla and Emily.
At dinner, he finally asked, "So, are you doing the finger pricks and all that?"
I looked down, then back up, a little spark of mischief in my eyes. "Well," I said, "I'm not allowed to touch the blood. But I do the pulse, blood pressure, and the visual inspections."
He knew I was holding back. "Okay," he said, "what aren't you telling me?" He knows me too well.
"Um, at lunch the other day, Kayla -- you know, the one with the accent -- she was talking about the 'clients'..." I did air quotes. "Turns out, a lot of them still do drugs, but they know not to inject in their... chelidons."
"Chelidons?" Greg asked.
"Yeah, that's what they call the inside of your elbow," I said. "Kayla called it a wagina."
I could see Greg was clueless. "Anyway," I said, "they inject in other places to hide the marks. Then they get their hundred bucks. The clinic doesn't know until the tests come back."
"That's gotta be expensive," Greg said.
"Yeah, Kayla and the others were saying it's a huge waste."
He still knew I wasn't telling him everything. "So, what's the rest of the story?"
I took a big gulp of wine. "I heard the phlebotomist -- the blood guy -- sometimes has to do a more thorough inspection. You know, between the fingers, thighs, even the butt."
Greg gave me that look. "And...?"
I looked down, then back up. "Yesterday, this guy came in, and I just... I don't know, it just popped into my head. I couldn't stop it."
"Stop what?"
"I told him the computer flagged him for further screening."
"You mean, the phlebotomist?"
"Yeah, but... the computer doesn't actually flag anyone. I don't know where it came from." I finished my wine and waved for another.
"Where what came from?"
