I was going to meet my friend, Dilbert, in front of the Student Center the other day to go upstairs and give blood for the blood drive. After an hour of waiting I gave my blood and decided to go looking for him.
It took quite a while to track Dilbert to the library, where I found him trying to camouflage himself as a bound periodical. He was scared to death.
“What is wrong with you, Dilbert?” I asked. “You were supposed to give blood this morning.”
“I just can’t do it,” he sobbed, “I’ve seen those machines. I might get drained dry.”
“No you won’t,” I persuaded, “All you give is one pint and you can get five points in biology class if you work it right.”
“I know,” he said, “But it’s my blood. I don’t have to give it if I don’t want to.”
“Dilbert, it is your duty as an American to give your good, red, healthy blood to your fellow countrymen,” I told him. “Besides, they have foxy nurses up there.”
“Alright, you don’t have to fight dirty.”
“That’s the spirit.”
Dilbert marched into the center with the courage of a chicken on the chopping block. After I dragged him up the stairway he regained a little composure.
“I’m ready,” he whispered, “If I don’t come out in an hour, run for your life.”
“You will make it,” I said.
I waited outside and in less than three minutes he came walking out again.
“How did you get out so fast?” I asked.
“You can’t say I didn’t try.”
“You mean they didn’t take your blood after all of the trouble I went to?”
“They must have thought I was sick or something.”
“What would make them think that?”
“I fainted.”
So ended Dilbert’s attempt at bravery, but one of these days he will redeem himself. At least, that is what he says.