“Did you bring the specimen sample?” the lab employee asked,
“UUhhhhhhh, no, I wasn’t aware I had to bring it.”
“Well…you can’t do that in here. Can you go home, do you live around here?”
“I wouldn’t be able to get back before you closed.”
“Ah ****, well, okay, take this,” he handed me a sample jar, “There’s a restroom on the second floor—”
“Woah! What? It’s a single-use restroom right?”
“Yeah man, don’t worry, we’ve all gone up there when we needed some privacy.”
“Jesus, okay, thanks, I’ll…be back…soon,” said in the manner of a partial-statement, partial-question,
And so there I was, on the second floor of a lab facility, attempting to get a sample after perhaps I had already produced too many samples in too short of time, especially for a man like me who is no longer a teenager, it was a rather difficult process, the environment was less than conducive, and when it finally happened it gave me an exertion headache that was so excruciatingly painful I thought my brain was going to ******* explode out of my ******* ears, my life’s work, concluded as I fell to the pissy floor of this restroom, having produced an extremely small amount of sample, what I had been viewing on my phone would have surely amused many, disappointed a few, and maybe flattered one, but ultimately nothing would matter ‘cause I would be dead, oh well,
When I went back downstairs to the office and gave the employee the jar he handed me a sterile one and told me, “Alright, just in case we need another sample, do it at home next time,” and I did.
