Pigs in a Blanket: punished for a good deed

I give blood about twice a year, because I'm O+ and apparently there's always a shortage of O+ blood supply. I give blood because I can and I have plenty to give. Also, I would like to think that if I was in a situation where I needed a blood transfusion, I would be able to get the blood transfusion because other kind souls are donating blood for the same reason - to help others who need it.

Anyway, I've been donating blood for about five years now and I usually do it in San Francisco at the Blood Centers of the Pacific. I've never given blood in KC because I don't know where the donation centers are, and so I just wait to donate blood when I travel back to SF.

Well, since I've been in DC, I donated blood once to the American Red Cross because they were having a blood drive at school and I had enough of a break to sit through the whole donation process. First of all, I'm donating MY BLOOD here, and would appreciate some gratitude and niceness from the workers taking my blood. Anyway, the first time I donated to the American Red Cross, the people were rude and harsh, but they were able to get the needle in correctly.

So a couple of months later, the American Red Cross called me to ask for another donation because there was a shortage of O+ blood. I happily agreed, especially since there was a donation center on campus. So I went to the center, filled out the paperwork and all that, and prepared for the needle prick. Oh, and the whole time she was completely rude to me. The lady pricked me and it just felt weird and wrong, but I didn't look because I don't want to look at needles being poked into me. My blood wouldn't come out for some reason and the lady started moving the needle around while it was still attached to me, which hurt like a mofo. She still couldn't get blood out so she finally said that I was too dehydrated and couldn't give blood that day. Bull -- I had two bottles of water and a glass of milk that morning, and I really think she didn't know what she was doing. She bandaged me up and I went off to class.

I later took off the bandage to find this:

I was shocked! I told The Boy my arm looked like that of a heroin addict's. It gets worse the next day:

And even worse on day 3:

I was pretty upset because I was going to Vegas for the weekend and was going to wear t-shirts, so I had to hide my hideous bruises somehow. I opted for Hello Kitty bandages, which still got attention in the form of "Oh, your bandages are so cute!!" or "Are you a Hello Kitty fan? So cute!" I guess this is better than someone staring at my arm and wondering how much herion I just injected or if I had an abusive spouse.