Undead Living #3: Night of the Living Doctors
Greetings my fellow ghouls to another edition of Undead Living. I will start today’s post with a complaint I hold very dear to my non-beating heart. There is a menace that stalks my college campus; a terror that I’m sure swarms the campuses of many other colleges as well. The horror of which I speak of preys upon students like myself, stalking us around every corner, luring us in with promises and gifts, and then sucking away at our blood like a drunk on St. Patty’s Day. And if you manage to escape from these vampires, they plague you with the slow rotting dread known as guilt.
Now before you take out your stash of garlic, wooden stakes, and copies of Buffy the Vampire Slayer on DVD, know that I do not speak of the undead monstrosities of which I simply adore. No, I speak of another creature scarier than any zombie with a blood fetish. I speak of the blood donor specialists.
Every other day I see one of their infernal death traps they call a blood bank bus. They’re usually parked outside the cafeteria or the library, perfect spots to catch unsuspecting students idling by for a snack or to study. Every time I see one of them, smiling – they’re always smiling – I can feel the knot in my stomach clenching.
I try to avoid them, I really do, but sometimes I’m really hungry (hey, the undead have to eat too, you know) and I don’t feel like walking all the way to Wendy’s to eat a mouthful of cancer and heart attacks. So I’ll pass them by, praying to whatever god I feel like talking to that day that the beasts will spare me.
There’s a reason I don’t believe in God…
They turn their heads toward me, their creepy little smiles stretched all the way to their ears; teeth lined up like a shark’s mouth. And like sharks, these buggers will instantly swim towards me, hand outstretched to make contact with me.
This is followed by a greeting of some sorts, usually hello or good afternoon, whatever their preference. Some people think they’re just being polite; I think they’re stalling for time, analyzing their next meal, much like one would when surveying a menu. Pretty sure they can tell my blood type just by the way I’m standing.
Whenever they finish this little scan, which takes about three seconds or so depending on the vampire in question, they say the most dreaded words in the history of mankind. Far worse than “I love you” or “Do you want fries with that” or even “You are the father.”
They say it gently, almost a whisper, so that you’ll lean in to listen to their words; your jugular vein exposed.
“Will you donate some blood today?”
Cringing, I take a step back and look them in the eyes. Luckily I knew this was a trap and had already formalized a lie. I have a tattoo, no wait, what if they want to see it? Then they’ll know I lied to them and that’s not good. Class? But I was walking toward the cafeteria. Risky. I got it! I have aids… yeah, no? Don’t have time.
So I end up telling him I already donated last week and I can feel the universe whimpering as the words escaped my lips. The Cheshire Cat-like smile begins to crack and shrink, forming an expressionless look on the vampire’s face. His warm, kind demeanor quickly freezes and sends chills through my undead bones. He knows I’m lying. He can see it. My conscience, whose been asleep for the last three months, begins to nag at me and I knew I was cursed. The vampire’s special weapon has hit me:
He nods at me and thanks me, but I knew he was just sealing the deal. I was cursed and as I walked away, feeling ashamed and horrible, I looked back and saw another student being attacked by the monster. He didn’t make it.
The vampire and the student walked toward their torture chamber/blood bank bus, where they would begin to drain the poor man of his vital fluids. My anger would soon return, melting away my frigid guilt, and I walked away from the accursed area.
Now, before I go any further, allow me to make something clear. I do not hate these men and women who go from campuses to campuses all over the country, asking for blood that is then used to save others in need. They even pay us with tickets to movies and food.
We need blood donors for sure. Hell, if it wasn’t for blood donors, I wouldn’t be the lovable zombie that I am, now would I? And when I die again, I hope to be pumped to the gut with blood from a blood bank.
But, my gripe is when they attack us at the worse possible times. I just want to go study, or eat lunch, or I need to go to class. They make us feel horrible for not donating blood every second of our lives when we have more pressing matters to attend. I will donate blood. I do donate blood. I just can’t do it on command so give me a break or you’ll never get a single drop of my O negative goodness. (That’s right, everyone wants my bloodly milkshake)
So to the vampires out there driving your lab on wheels, lighten up and understand we can’t just drop everything to feed your little bags. And to students (and nonstudents too) who are being pestered by these creatures: don’t give up. Don’t let their smiles and words sway you into doing something you don’t want to do. No means no, no matter what and if they curse you with guilt later on, just remember:
You can always donate next time.
So until then, Happy Haunting ghoulings
-Sir Jeffrey of the Pen
Hey ghoulings, don’t forget to visit my main website at: The Dark Scrolls
Also, add me on Facebook: Jeffrey Martinez
And if you’re a fan of video games, gadgets, comics, and anything nerdy, follow me on myIGN: Sir_Jeffrey