"Fat to Fittie"

If there’s one thing we’re good at in the UK, it’s queueing and the other day I joined one of the politest. After having a few health issues, the doc suggested a blood test, being a man, it took me three weeks to pick the form up and another two before I decided to go. Usually the reason for having a test is because there’s something wrong with your health and need to find out what. Some people are anxious at the prospect, while others are terrified, not of the impending result, but because of the needle used to extract it. I’m neither, just didn’t want to sit around wasting an afternoon. The day I finally chose to get my arse into gear was a Monday, a decision I was later to regret, as about an hour in, I heard the receptionist explain that this was always the busiest day, great!

Where I live you have an option to go different places for your blood taken, the hospital being the most obvious, but there’s also a sort of pop up clinic as well. Pre Covid, or BC as we now call it, the service was at the local Asda. I’m guessing it had to be moved after the rise in shoplifting and most of the population in the area were banned from the store, so leaving the phlebotomist’s (thank god for spell check), stood twiddling their needles. I parked up outside the community stadium where it now is, feeling smug that I’d got a space, even walking toward the lift, I still felt a sense of cockiness that it wasn’t going to take long, not until I got out did I realise. A long queue was snaking around the floor outside the clinic doors, didn’t take long for me to comprehend, this was my afternoon gone. For a minute I considered going back in the lift, but the journey from the car park had been an endurance and one I didn’t want to repeat.

After joining the queue, I tried to inject a bit of humour, knowing that the people around me were going to be friends for quite a while, much better to get along than not. Thankfully this did work to my vantage as it was pointed out by one of them, that pulling a ticket from the machine would be a good idea to secure my place. Can you imagine what an arse I’d have been in standing there for half an hour before realising? Number 38 was what I got, glancing at the digital counter it flicked to 78, friggin hell, at least there wasn’t a third digit, otherwise it could have gone up to 200 before reverting back to nought. Eventually chairs became available as numbers were called, some guy’s quite rightly reluctant to sit while women and elderly were standing, that’s when I became aware that I was now one of those vulnerable statistics. Obviously the stick I was using drew sympathy and it was me now being asked to take a seat, I held off for as long as possible, until the pain and my reluctance reached an acceptable level..

As well as the politeness around the room, what struck me most was the silence. Apart from one ageing hippy telling the poor woman next to him about his record collection and which films he loved, the only voices came from the nurses calling out the numbers. Every time a new one was announced, people would move seats and edge toward the doors as their winning ticket got closer to being called. The odd bit of eye contact and general nodding of the head in agreement to the wait, was part of the bond that had brought us all together. Then, the final moment came, as it eventually would for everyone in the room, I was in, can’t believe after 90 mins, I’m finally getting done. The whole process only took about 2 mins, I watched as the blood filled two tiny tubes, “Is that it?” I asked, “What were you expecting?” came the reply, “Tea and biscuits!” I guess a sense of humour’s important when you spend your entire working day sticking needles in people, even more so if they only thing you hear all day are numbers been called out and the odd dick head hippy asking “Why two tubes, is one for your mate Dracula?” I could see the nurse shaking her head in the cubicle opposite as the words came out his mouth, I presumed she was thinking “If I had a pound”….. My experience in the blood taking clinic was now over, but as I headed back to the lifts I could see the queue was even longer than when I first joined it. Looking at the clock, I did the maths, knowing how long I had just waited and working out what time it closed, there were about 15 people who would have to come back tomorrow and do it all again, but we’re Brits, we don’t mind.