Going back through all my posts it occured to me that I’d never done a write up of the all too dreaded “STD Test” from the doc in the box. What a day that was in the annals of my life. This one, you see, was different. It wasn’t just blood work – oh no, it was something much more diabolical.

I’m sitting in the waiting room and hating it. I hate waiting rooms. Mainly because I know that once I get back into the super secret area and on an exam table, I’m going to have to wait again. I fill out the paperwork and wait about 20 minutes to be called back. “Mr. Phillips…..Keith….Keith Phillips”. Alreaday I hated that woman. My preminition was correct as I got back to the exam room and sat down for another 25 minutes, with only the briefest of “sorry, the team assigned to you should be done any minute”.

I’m coming for blood work and I get my own team?

The first person I meet is this giant dude who looks like a cross between Kevin Smith (face/head) and the Notorius B.I.G. (everywhere else). So I dubbed him Silent Biggy, only he was anything but silent. He wanted to be my friend. He’d noticed that to pass the time in what came to be known as the “STD Room” (because all the literature was on them, I didn’t even see one for smoking or heart disease) he wanted to know if I had any questions.

I told him no that really I’d been out of a relationship and just wanted a checkup, no symptoms but insurance pays for it and it’s good to know these things.

Apparently he admired this because he said “You know, I admire that. Most guys, if it’s not green, covered in sores, or their butthole itches do they ever come in.”

I j ust had this giant male nurse say “butthole itch”. Hmmm. I began to wonder if he was just some dude in scrubs that liked to pretend to play doctor. He had me by a good 100 lbs and had a table full of needles, but I think I could have taken him if I had to.

As I was contemplating stabbing him in the eye with his own needles to stop this chit-chat he breaks my concentration by saying “So, does the head of your penis on the bottom look like ground beef?”

WHAT?!

“No, I don’t think so. It just looks like it always has”.

“Oh” he tells me “That’s good then, just wanted to make sure you didn’t have herpes”.

oooohhhhkaayyyy – I thought the reason I was here was to determine all that. I had no idea that I could make medical assumptions comparing my  body to beef.

“Does your face look like a braised chuck roast – aw fuck man, you have aids”.

He could tell his “we’ve been friends and can use metaphors and talk about my penis act” was wearing thin – so he says “lets get that blood out of you, are you afraid of needles”.

“Yeah, sort of. It’s not so much the needle dude, it’s the fact that you’re sucking my blood out. What if I get into a wreck on the way back to work, and all that you sucked out could have saved me while the rest of me bleeds out on the steering wheel while they jaws of life me?”

That got the look I hoped for. He said “Well alright, I’ll only take what I need – just don’t pass out on me”.

Then the poking started. 7 times. 7 pricks in my arm.

“Man, you got some jumpy veins”

No one has EVER had problems getting blood from my veins, they’re as thick as pencils and move about as much as the Golden Gate Bridge.

Finally after prick number seven, I was like “Look dude, can you give it a rest – you’re giving me track marks and my boss won’t like that”.

He failed to see the humor in it and got a little pissy “Look, you have jumpy veins ok – I need to get this blood from you – I can go from your hand but that really hurts. I’m doing this for you, alright?”

Wow. Really? That’s your answer? Not “lets try the other arm”.

“I didn’t mean stab my hand man, I meant try my left arm, I know it’s sort of against your posture right  now, but I can move”

“No” he tells me “it’s the size of the needle, let me go get some more”.

Oh for fucks sake are you serious? My body is full of blood. It really is, every time I cut myself I bleed. I know it’s in there. How the hell are you not getting it.

So he comes back in wih this woman, she’s large, and obviously wants to be crunk. Bad gold jewelry all over, short dyed red hair, and looked like she would suck dick for pumpkin pie. If you put some daisy dukes on her and dropped her south of 20, she’d fit in…even as a large white girl.

“So you don’t want to give us your blood do you”?”.

That’s how she introduced herself.

“Well you’re gonna give it to me if you want to or don’t want to – I’m gonna take it from you”.

My body instantly tensed up, I was now ready to fight The Notorius F.A.T and his hooker at the same time.

She whipped out this device and said “This is my butterfly”. My first thought was “ewww get that shit away from me”. (Go to adameve.com and google butterfly, it’ll make sense). The guy said “The butterfly? What for? I was gonna just do his other arm with new needles.”

Great, now the pudgy vampires are arguing over me.

She obviously had the balls of the two because she said “You see what you done did to this poor guys arm, watch what I’mma do and get all 7 vials of his blood” then looks at me “Now don’t you go passin’ out, I like to squeeze so it comes out fast and sometimes people get sick or passout – but don’t do none of that – just sit there and look away”.

…and she stabbed me.. and got my blood, first try. Then decided to talk shit to the bearded wonder beside me “See, it’s not hard – all you gotta do is know what you’re doing he ain’t got no jumpy veins”.

The dude got up and made some remark that he was going to get the rest of the exam equipment (wtf?) and the doc.

…in walks this small woman. Not unattractive but my vibe from her was that she could be found at the local Cougar singles bar and could really make some dude lucky – until she started comparing salary and other stuff to belittle the low confidence bastards. She was not lacking in confidence.

“Hi. What I need you to do when I get a witneess in here will be this – drop your pants, let me visually examine you. I’m going to ask you some questions and then we’re going to finish up, you’ll be out of here in no time”.

…a witness?

She called for one and none other than my friend and yours , Silent Biggy, joined us.

…this guy is going to see my junk?

I find out that if a male is examining a male, no witness – but he was there to make sure she didn’t get fresh with me or I didn’t try to kill her when I found out what she meant when she said “Please get me the male probe. This has been known to cause discomfort, please stand still. I will insert the probe INTO YOUR PENIS and swap for chlamadya. I will need to do this for 30-60 seconds to ensure I have enough of your epithelials – this way we don’t have to do it over again”

…I didn’t have time to digest that as she motions for the man to go get the probe.

“Drop your pants please, don’t be ashamed it’s nothing that I haven’t seen before”

I couldn’t resist

“Oh yes it is, we’ve never met”

Bad move I think.

I got glared at over her glasses – the kind of glare that could either start a porn scene or end up with my dick in a jar on her desk. I decided to shut up, but I couldn’t.

“You know, I don’t know what a male probe is… but I’ve never had it before. To make it seem more fun, you should tell the big guy to “go get a cherry pie” and at least I wouldn’t be so nervous about it”

“Mr. Phipps, this isn’t about you being nervous or not. You’re doing the right thing by getting tested and in the end, that’s what matters.”

Hmm. Tough crowd – but who am I to argue while she’s looking for ground beef under my junk or whatever she was.

“Turn around please”

Um… WHAT? Wait. I don’t want to turn around. You’ve already surprised me with this probe thing coming in – now you want to give me the UFIA also?! (UFIA = uninvited finger in anus).

So I slowly turned around and she said “You have dry skin, very dry skin – I’m going to write you a perscription for steriod creme.

As she’s got her face at my ass level, the dude comes back in the room – and I’m quasi naked – and he’s carring a 12″ GIANT FUCKING Q-TIP! I nearly passed out.

The Dr. takes the q-tip and opens it and says “I need you to breathe in as I push. Remember, you could feel some discomfort… one, two, breathe..”

I saw spots.

I felt nothing but fire.

I wanted to punch her in the face but bit down on my keychain (leather) instead. (It still has the teeth marks)

She said “Now I have to spin the swab, I’ll keep time”.

As she turned the swab inside my shaft it felt like I had fiberglass insulation wrapped in sandpaper and crushed barnicals tearing me apart and flaying me into little strips she could dry and keep as dick jerkey to feed to her dog.

The big dude touched me on the shoulder and said “Are you alright? You look furious”.

Furious? Perhaps. That was to mask the little voice in me going “dude.. she’s doing this because you made jokes about it – I bet normal doctors could just push it in and pull it out – a brief  but necessary discomfort”.

She said “45 seconds should be enough, please breathe out as I pull.. now”.

I felt like I was giving birth.

It felt like I had a drumstick shoved inside me from the front.

I was not happy, I was not ammused, and I was certainly not in a joking mood when she said “See, just a little discomfort – but you could do this once a week if you wanted”.

Die you Ph, D hooker. Leave me to my shame and weeping!

I got re-dressed and she brought back the script for the steriods. Told me I’d have the results of my tests in a few days and to call back.

I left, walking like I still had an angry hornet in my penis – past the lady who took my blood at the front desk. She giggled at me.

I got back to work walking funny, my arms covered in cotton balls and bandaids, and with a look on my face that apparently still said “Fury – die now”.

I also had a look on my face that said “please buy me cheesecake I need pity”. It depened on how you looked at it because they’re very similar

So I tell a few people of the male probe, call back a few days later, find I’m clean as a whistle, and go on with my life…. but let me tell you something I learned:

Don’t fuck with the woman doctor who has access to slide drumsticks in your junk.

and

The “male probe” is *nothing* to fuck with.

/end

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