When the blood goes bad / Punch

Blood don't last forever.

There are over 5,000 blood banks in the U.S. Each one is stocked with an average of 200 gallons of blood. That's roughly one million gallons of blood just sitting around and waiting for someone to to get shot in the stomach or lose an arm. Trillions of red and white blood cells biding their time, twiddling their thumbs until the next plane crash or car bombing. Fact is, a good number of those gallons go unused. Even under ideal refrigeration and preservation conditions blood only last for about 6 years before it loses its luster. Once that happens there's no use keeping it at the bank. Blood bankers need to get rid of it and make way for fresh liquid vitality.

I'm the guy they call when the blood goes bad.

See, you can't just dump bad blood down the drain. That would be a serious violation of health code 65 section C. You can't dump in lakes or oceans either. Nor can you bury it, burn it, leave it out in the sun and hope it evaporates, or shoot it into space. When it comes to expired blood, state and federal courts have seen fit to outlaw any conceivable disposal method. So when any blood bank manager finds themselves with a freezer full of dead blood my phone is sure to ring shortly thereafter.

They all have my card.

When they call the conversation is brief. I suppose most of the questions they'd like to ask they're too scared of what the answers might be.

I don't tell them when I'm coming. I don't call them once I've arrived. All they know is that one morning soon they'll arrive to work and the bad blood will be gone.

I work at night.

I've got keys to every blood bank in the country. I get in. I get out. And I'm on my way. There's a sort of sick dynamic between the desolate and lonely nights and the life giving fluid from thousands I carry. I'm alone yet with company at the same time.

What I do with the blood I'm not at liberty to say. What I can tell you is this.

You may have seen me.

I might have been the weird guy you passed on the sidewalk last night carrying two buckets. I could be the crazy neighbor who waters his plants at night. I may have been the stranger in the bar who brought his own drink.

My work day ends when dawn first breaks. I like to save a few cc's of O+ for myself, find a nearby park or beach, and toast the rising sun.

"Here's to you, sun. You're the one that keeps the blood pumping. I'm the one they call when the blood goes bad."

Then I head back to my bed and try to sleep. The sun illuminates my crimson stained hands. They remind me to have nightmares. They remind me to fold them and pray.

It's a living.