I got a ticket to-day, a citation, $85, walking-back home from giving plasma. I'm bummed. I share.
I was, like I said, walking home from giving plasma, in the rain. I honestly do not think I have a job. And money is tight. And rather than take any from my bank account when I need a touch, I've been going to give plasma for $25. So, I was walking back from giving plasma, in the rain, so that I can pay for some food, the purpose of the excursion.
Donating plasma, they prick your finger, to test your blood for proper protein levels and such before you donate. They give you a bandaid to wrap-round your finger to stop the blood from the little prick. If all is well, you can go around the corner and donate. And they hook you up to a machine and the machine seperates your plasma from your blood, collects your plasma, and gives back your blood. It takes about 45 minutes all hooked-up.
Walking home now, an hour walk, 3 miles,—5 kilometers—and of course it starts to rain the second I step outside. Those gods really don't like me. But at least it wasn't raining on the walk here, my only solace.
And my head is light, like I stood-up too quickly. Which is new. Normally I'm fine. But it'll go away.
The sidewalks are all unshoveled. They're not so used to snow here, and the damn stuff is still lingering-round, all compacted now into ice. And it's impossible to walk on the sidewalks. Three hours it would take me to walk home, and I'd be completely exhausted. And I'm already feeling light-headed. It's a workout trying to keep from slipping on the ice for 20 feet, nevermind 3 miles.
But I am a master. So I walk in the streets, in spots clearer of ice, and dodge the cars as they come. I take less busy streets, 10th and 14th, versus 11th and 13th for example. But there is still traffic everywhere. That can't be helped. Not once they're all awake, this place is so over-populated. But it did take them forever to wake, thankfully. It was seven o'clock when I got to the plasma place, which means between six o'clock and seven o'clock I was walking, which isn't even so early, six o'clock. But this place was completely dead, this town. Not a car or person in sight. Walking to there in the streets, I was completely uninterrupted. But not now. They're up finally. Nine o'clock it is now, and they're buzzing-round everywhere. And I'm dodging traffic like a good, little frog.
And as I walk, I notice that bandaid round my finger again. I had forgot it. And I'm playing with it with my other finger, trying to slip it off. But it's sticky, and doesn't slide off so well. But I get it. It starts to roll off. That little prick hurts a little bit as the roll passes it. And I slip it off, onto the ground, into the snow.
And I hear it. Woop-woop. I look up, and there is a cop directly across the street, parked, staring at me. And he gets out. And he says, you know I'm going to have to write you up for littering, you know that right. And I say, sure. And I stomp the bandaid even more into the ground.
He's going on and on about the evils of littering. And I know it too. I never litter. But I hate this town, their pseudo-whatever-it-is, trying to be green and liberal and open-minded and environmental, and all that shit. And it would all be wonderful maybe, if everyone wasn't so full of shit. They shout "Hey asshole, don't litter" from their SUV's as they zoom-off.
He writes me my ticket, $85. I spit on the ground. Off he zooms, their beautiful SUV's—warm in there too probably—surprised he even got out really. And I'll be giving plasma for three weeks now to afford this ticket.