I’ve wanted to donate blood ever since I saw Amar Akbar Anthony at age 5. This morning I finally got my chance, but it wasn’t as dramatically heroic as I had hoped. (It’s difficult to be dramatically heroic when one has to hold a green rubber ball in one’s palm and squeeze it at regular intervals.) Anyway, once the thing was over I was shown into an antechamber containing a sad-faced attendant who asked me if I would like tea, coffee or Real fruit juice. Sipping the juice, I noticed a sign that said:
“Do not think of the refreshment as a replacement for the blood. It is simply a gesture of goodwill.”
What did they think one would do, cut open a vein and pour the stuff in?