For Your Entertainment - Getting Physical

So I’m applying for a new job, and as part of the application process, I had to undergo a rather lengthy physical today. Drawing six tubes of blood while fasting is never ever fun, and with my exaggerated fear of needles I have to say I was just grateful I didn’t pass out.

The nice lady who was helping me today was quite entertaining. She was a bit butch, but in her scrubs you would probably never pin her for a lesbian – unless you were a seasoned gay man who happened to notice her shoes, like me ;). At one point in the testing, she told me about the need for her to do a lung test, where I blow into this little machine to see how hard and how fast I can expunge all of the air in my lungs.

The most entertaining part of the test was when she told me to go ahead and blow, she felt the need to stand around like a cheerleader screaming “blow blow blow blow!”
After the test was over, she told me about what a great blower I was, which, of course, I took as a compliment.

I can only imagine the chuckles that must have originated from the two other nurses sitting just outside the door (one of whom was definitely family, and rather attractive, if you are into the whole emo look).

After a few more tests (ok, hours of tests) the doctor started to review my now completed file (by the way, if you haven’t had the chance to see a full chest x-ray of yourself, it is really quite interesting). My EKG showed that my heart tilts a little to the right… nothing to be concerned about, just not normal.

But the blow test… oh no… For some reason the nurse didn’t input all the numbers she needed the machine for the machine to compute correct averages (that, and she inputted that I was 17 years old somehow). The nice doctor lady told me to go into their break room and have a yogurt while she found someone else to administer the blow test, since the nurse that had been there that morning had left for a class and wouldn’t be back for a few hours.

Well, you know where this story is going. After finishing my yogurt, in walks the emo nurse carrying the blow machine. “Is it you that needs to do the blow test?” he asks.

I didn't quite know how to respond. I am a married spud after all.

So the guy takes me back into a dark corner room (I know! I was starting to get a little nervous at this point), and administers the blow test. He had me sit on a chair, and handed me the machine. Of course, his scrubs HAD to be tight, and I could pretty much make out just about everything as he stood over me.

I don’t know what it was about this place, but emo guy had to be a little cheerleader too! I couldn’t help chuckle at the situation: here I was, sitting in front of a hot emo nurse whose junk was practically hanging in my face while he screamed “blow blow blow blow, keep going, blow blow blow!”

All I can say is that I’m glad I’m an out gay man now. Had this happened while I was my little closeted Mormon self, I probably would have passed out.