BLOOD+URINE
By the time we got to Planned Parenthood, most of the rain had evaporated out of my clothes, but I still smelled kind of moldy. It didn't get any more comfortable once we were buzzed into the clinic, and the roaring blast of the air conditioner gave me goose bumps and caterpillar fuzz while I checked off the boxes on my intake forms, scribbling the date at least ten times.
White. Male. 8/6/84. Condoms, and then over to the right of it, None - not sexually active. No symptoms. No history of trouble. No medications. No problems at home. No income. No burning or itching sensations.
When we walked in, some girls looked shocked that we, which is to say two guys, would have any business at Planned Parenthood. "Why would misters need to come here?" "Shut up, they can here you." "Hey, are you here for pregnancy tests?" one of them asks. "Yeah, that's it, actually," I reply.
I stepped out to get a coffee, and while I was bobbling this scalding hot cup back and forth, the front desk guy, shielded behind his bulletproof booth, told me that I couldn't take in any food or beverages. So I tried to drink as much of this scalding swill as I could. Tongue, throat, and roof-of-mouth burns are pretty common. I eat like a hog, so I'm no stranger to it. Once I actually took some leftover darvocet for a pizza burn. But the feeling of near-boiling hot coffee sloshing around in the stomach is unique.
After a while of freezing our asses off in the waiting room, punctuated with rounds of Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon (followed by Six Degrees of Rip Torn, Six Degrees of Freddy Prinze Jr., Six Degrees of Parker Posey, and Six Degrees of Johnny Rhys-Meyers), I eventually get called up, and the nurse/tech/I'm not sure - her name was Lara - Lara and I swapped facts about famous STD-related deaths. Al Capone and Beethoven died of syphilis, Asimov died from AIDS. She tells me all the relevant information, then hands me a cup to pee in, and indicates the locker to put it in. I do, and I do, and then she takes two vials of blood, and I watch it squirt out into the tubes. It was pretty cool.
By the time I'm done, so is Jamie, and so we paid our bills and went and got some diner food. I had a milkshake, which after burning the shit out of myself, was pretty damn good, believe you me.
I'm supposed to call back in two weeks to find out if I have any STDs. Neither of us thought we did, and I only went to give Jamie some company, but that's what Chloë Sevigny did in KIDS, and she found out she had HIV. I certainly hope I'm not some kind of HPV carrier or something. I mean I don't itch or anything, so that rules out a few of them. At least it'll be nice to say that I've had the test.
White. Male. 8/6/84. Condoms, and then over to the right of it, None - not sexually active. No symptoms. No history of trouble. No medications. No problems at home. No income. No burning or itching sensations.
When we walked in, some girls looked shocked that we, which is to say two guys, would have any business at Planned Parenthood. "Why would misters need to come here?" "Shut up, they can here you." "Hey, are you here for pregnancy tests?" one of them asks. "Yeah, that's it, actually," I reply.
I stepped out to get a coffee, and while I was bobbling this scalding hot cup back and forth, the front desk guy, shielded behind his bulletproof booth, told me that I couldn't take in any food or beverages. So I tried to drink as much of this scalding swill as I could. Tongue, throat, and roof-of-mouth burns are pretty common. I eat like a hog, so I'm no stranger to it. Once I actually took some leftover darvocet for a pizza burn. But the feeling of near-boiling hot coffee sloshing around in the stomach is unique.
After a while of freezing our asses off in the waiting room, punctuated with rounds of Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon (followed by Six Degrees of Rip Torn, Six Degrees of Freddy Prinze Jr., Six Degrees of Parker Posey, and Six Degrees of Johnny Rhys-Meyers), I eventually get called up, and the nurse/tech/I'm not sure - her name was Lara - Lara and I swapped facts about famous STD-related deaths. Al Capone and Beethoven died of syphilis, Asimov died from AIDS. She tells me all the relevant information, then hands me a cup to pee in, and indicates the locker to put it in. I do, and I do, and then she takes two vials of blood, and I watch it squirt out into the tubes. It was pretty cool.
By the time I'm done, so is Jamie, and so we paid our bills and went and got some diner food. I had a milkshake, which after burning the shit out of myself, was pretty damn good, believe you me.
I'm supposed to call back in two weeks to find out if I have any STDs. Neither of us thought we did, and I only went to give Jamie some company, but that's what Chloë Sevigny did in KIDS, and she found out she had HIV. I certainly hope I'm not some kind of HPV carrier or something. I mean I don't itch or anything, so that rules out a few of them. At least it'll be nice to say that I've had the test.