Call 1800 DOCTORB. The B is for BARGAIN!

I just had a blood test experience that made my last pap smear seem like a candlelit dinner for two followed by the romantic insertion of a pair of lab goggles into my fajutza.

You would think that a medical professional who extracts blood from patients who may be

1) Terrified of needles
2) Terrified of pending blood test results

would be armed with some kind of personality that would help to deal with these circumstances.

Sure - I have highly specific tastes when it comes to medicine. I like my blood to be drawn exclusively by mumsy overweight women in billowy blouses who are equipped to indulge my acute case of Munchausen’s syndrome whilst asking me how my mother is, all the while distracting me from the pending needle.

I would also prefer it if she smelled a little like baby powder.

Until this morning, that was exactly the sort of medical attention I was used to recieving at my local clinic. Luckily, I was unconcerned with the needle and not particularly worried about the test results, so the absent compassion of the Westinghouse fridge in a smock that stuck a needle in my arm without looking at me once was more hilarious than it was troubling.

Surely the ability to communicate with others past hooting and clicking is a basic requirement of working with people, let alone being allowed near them with a syringe?

For your reference, here is a photo I snapped of her on her coffee break, so avoid her if you can.