Riot at the Plasma Center

The NABI Plasma extraction center in Chattanooga opened at eight in the morning. Needing cigarettes and booze I showed up ahead of the crowd on this fine morning. I think it may have been around 7:30 am. When I pulled in to the parking lot I noticed about three people ahead of me. No big deal. I figured I would not even have to sit through five minutes of whatever over-played movie the workers would haphazardly toss into the DVD player (usually THE SIXTH SENSE), causing me to hate previously loved films. I parked the car and lit a menthol, watching the street breathe and bend around me. The Amnicola bridge’s laughter rang in my ears as traffic babbled insults while rushing by, jealous of the fact that I had reached my ddestination and it had yet to.

Oh yeah. About twelve hours earlier I had dropped some six or eight hits of microdot acid and the shit still worked hard on my system. Everything felt groovy, and that was fine with me. I smoked and got my head together. When finished, I got out of the car and pitched the butt because the ashtray was screaming at me that it could not handle the taste of smoked cigarette any longer. Fucker. I asked it what the fuck it thought it was built for and it gave me a raspberry. I shook it off and forgave the ashtray—after all even inanimate objects can only handle so much of something that sucks. The car cried as I shut the door, telling me it was Japanese and had no business being left alone in the south. I told it to get over its goddamn whining and proceeded to the queue.

Rewind. You’re thinking “What an asshole” aren’t you? Well, fuck you. I was only 23. I didn’t give a shit and I thought maybe I was providing a public service to all the poor burn victims needing a digital bath. At least this way they may have had a little fun. Don’t blame me. Blame the center for allowing me to pass the drug test. Worse, it makes me wonder now how many people with West Nile or Syphilis sold their plasma.

Back to the story: I blinked hard to try and set my vision straight because the three people in line had begun merging together and growing, stretching into some fucked up crack head Nyarlathotep. What kind of bastards were they? Moreover, what kind of bastard was I? No. Just blink hard. Close the eyelids and take a few deep breaths and come back from the effects of this horrible, dangerous drug. What day was it? The sun had yet to rise to the height of heat and an Elder God waited for me at the gates of phlebotomy. My shoes barked, the pavement asked me to stop. Turn around and leave this ghastly place.

“Hey man, you okay?” a large black man asked.

“Huh? Where’d that goddamn monster go? I need the Eye of Hastur.”

“What?” He laughed. “Boy, you crazy.”

Indeed I had not seen any fictional monsters, only the smiling and affable one before me. He stood at least six inches taller than me and must have outweighed me by over a hundred pounds. Muscles bulged. Used to being taller than everyone around me at over six feet this fucker made me feel like a sewer rat. We talked for a moment, both noticing that the line of people waiting for NABI to open had grown to the length of a legendary serpent. Thirty or forty people shuffled their feet and smoked cigarettes, bitched about whether or not the center would open its doors.

Then, the cobalt blue Nissan pulled up. From the passenger seat, the manager asked me around a cloud of cannabis whether we’d all mind waiting a little longer so she and her co-workers could get some breakfast.

“Sure,” I said. Bring me a fucking McMuffin.”

“Rob, you funny,” she said. Yes. They knew me. And they drove off. An hour later they came back. By then we were all very angry. I almost forgot about the drug racing through my bloodstream until I saw some lady reach down into the bushes and pluck a grasshopper from the ground. She crunched on it.

No. Dear happy Christ. Perhaps it was time to leave. The cobalt blue Nissan returned and the workers emerged from all sides, pushing past the babbling crowd and opening the doors. As we filed in behind them, the manager turned around and told us we’d have to wait another ten minutes before entering the building proper but that she’d turn the air conditioning on to make it a bit more comfortable. She unlocked the door and the bastards went inside, leaving us to rot.

“Hey, wait,” I said to the manager. “Can we get a bonus or some shit for all this waiting? It’s like, ten o’clock.”

“You a trip, Rob,” she said.

“We’re going to fucking riot!” I said. She laughed, knowing me a bit of a clown. Sure, I was half kidding. Unfortunately the crowd did not realize that. Before I knew what had happened the people were howling “riot” and “bonus” and pushing past me, beating on the doors. Holy fuck! What had I done? I felt like Dr. Frankenstein. Was it the drugs? I assessed that it was indeed not the drugs, these people were fucking pissed. The huge black man knocked me out of the way and made to kick at the glass door.

Shit.

“Wait, dude,” I said. I knocked on the door. The manager came back.

“You have to pacify these goddamn lunatics,” I said. “They’re going to break down the doors.”

She smiled until the large black man pushed me out of the way and balled up his fist. I’ve never seen a woman unlock a door so fast. The horde smashed through the door like a group of French Revolutionaries screaming for Marie Antoinette’s head. I slid through them and ran to the sign-in desk, climbing atop and using the one weapon I did have—my voice—to quiet the mob.

“We’re in! All of us will be hooked up to the Matrix but I’m going first! I need my money now!”

It didn’t help.

The manager grabbed my shirt and pulled me down. I cackled, at least I think I did, and she shoved something into my hand and in no uncertain terms told me to get the fuck out.

Everyone else looked nice and calm. Had that really happened? I left the center and got into the car. In my hand was a twenty dollar bill and around my right arm at the elbow a nice little stretch wrap to staunch the blood from the plasma extraction needle.

The moral of the story is: Never give plasma on acid. You may end up having a nightmare.