I think you’re only allowed to have five regrets in your whole life.  This means that if you already have five things from your past that you regret and then another one surfaces, you have to decide which one is gonna make the top five. The sixth needs to be rolled off the list. You’ve only got so much energy for things like this, so it’s important to stick to the rules. One of my regrets has always been that I’ve never donated blood. Giving blood is something everybody should do, and I realize this, but, being a bit intimidated by the whole “huge needle draining your lifeforce” part of it, I’ve never donated. When I only had two big regrets in my life, it wasn’t so bad to have my blood donating virginity as a distant third. Recently though, my regrets list is starting to feel a bit squeezed, so I decided that I needed to make some room. I signed up to donate blood, making sure I had a friend along in case I needed some emotional support.

Before you can donate blood, first you have to go through the pre-screening. I sat down with one of the nice blood-drainers and answered all of her questions with a smile on my face. No, I don’t have hepatitis. No, I haven’t been in contact with anyone who has hepatitis. No, I’m not a gay man (on another note, it’s amazing to me that gay men aren’t allowed to give blood and this discrimination is totally acceptable). No, I haven’t gotten a tattoo in the last six months. No, I’m not an intravenous drug user. No, I haven’t had sexual contact with an intravenous drug user. No, I don’t have HIV. No, I haven’t slept with a hooker. No. No. No. No. Wait… What’s that? Have I lived in Europe for more than six months before 1996? Yes, yes I have.

And with that one affirmative, I wasn’t allowed to give blood. Sure, they’ve got a good reason (Europe had different standards than the US for handling beef, so there is a possibility that I have the undetectable-until-it-kills-you mad cow disease), but really, I can’t give blood? Ever? Can I give blood in Europe? Or does Europe have the same standards? If so, where are they getting their blood donors? But, this was not the time to get these questions answered, this was the time that the nice blood-drainer said, “Thanks anyway, be sure and grab yourself a cookie on your way out.”

So, I walk out of the little cubicle and back into the waiting area. There are several people in there, and since I had only been gone for about four minutes, all of the workers and other donors knew I was rejected. I wanted to make some sort of announcement, something like, “I’m not a drug user, I’ve never had sex with a hooker and while I support those who choose a homosexual lifestyle, I personally am not a homosexual, but instead was subjected to rampant mad cow disease when I lived in Germany as a child.” Instead, I just grabbed a Chips Ahoy and did my best to not soak it with my tears.

And of course, my friend has perfectly acceptable blood, so I had to wait until she donated it. So, I took a seat in the waiting room. The guy handing out the cookies, tells me that there is no need for me to stick around, and I can leave whenever I want. Obviously, he wants my tainted blood as far away as possible.  A couple people waiting to give blood noticeably shift their seats away from me. I’m a pariah, and there’s nothing I can do about it but sit and feel these people judging me.

So, I can never give blood. And sure, not being able to give blood is unfortunate because I’ll never get to contribute to saving someone’s life through blood donation, but the thing that bothers me most about it is that, for all the reasons to get eliminated from giving blood, mine was the most boring. I mean, I could have used intravenous drugs. I could have gotten a tattoo. I could have had sex with Pamela Anderson  (who has Hepatitis C). I could have gotten a tattoo of me and Pamela Anderson having sex while using intravenous drugs.  It’s a good thing I just opened up some room on my regret list.