What a Morning!

This morning I had to undergo one of the more demeaning procedures I have yet to experience in my short life.  No, I am not talking about airport security, although that is equally if not more dehumanizing.  This morning I was administered with a drug test.  Why am I being drug tested?  No, I am not on the brink of a career-making job opportunity.  Quite the opposite.  I have been offered a tentative job at Sola Squeeze, a smoothie stand, all pending a drug test.  I know what you're thinking: "Gabe, aren't you a college graduate?"  You bet.  "Then why on Earth are you working at a smoothie stand in the middle of a mall?"  First of all, it is not a stand, you hypothetical jerk.  It's a fully-realized shop/venue situated comfortably between a US Bank and a Starbucks.  I applied to become a smoothie chef (and, yes, I will be referring to my new position as such here on throughout), because I desperately need some extra money while I'm working in the theatre.  I think, out of all of this, the more pressing issue is the need for me to be drug tested in order to make people delightful, yet highly caloric smoothies.  There's no point in analyzing, I've simply come to accept.  Fortunately, it's given me a topic that I've all ready deemed high in "blog-worth."

So, I go into this lab, and the physician greets me and admits me immediately.  I can immediately tell she's done this job for a long time.  She knows what she's doing.  Not wasting any time, she asks if I need any water.  Feeling very confident in my bladder's abilities, I say I'm good to go.  Then she hands me the cup, and my immediate reaction is a mixture of anxiety and slight arrogance.  It's a decent sized cup, but I can't help but think to myself: "When I take a normal one-sie, I produce way more urine than ever could be contained by that cup.  It's going to overflow!  Or worse, what if I have to transfer the stream into the toilet bowl.  That could be a rough transition.  What if excess urine dribbles down the side.    I can't give her the cup like that.  Or worse, what if I get it on my hand?  I'm already doing a one-sie into a cup I am forced to hold; this is icky enough as it is.  And, under no circumstances will I ever interrupt a stream.  That can't be healthy."  Then the physician draws a line near the base of the cup specifying the minimum sample she needs.  I almost laughed in he face.  

Regardless, something much worse than I could have ever expected occurred while I was in the bathroom.  First of all, I was very right to assume my bladder was up to this challenge.  I began my one-sie almost immediately.  And, at about the half way point, I quickly realized I had grossly overestimated the volume of my sample.  I think I could have only reached maybe half way up the cup.  I stress "think" in that previous sentence because, I am not actual sure how much I filled it up.  The reason being is that near the end of my one-sie, the cup, the very cup containing the majority of my sample, slipped out of my hand, and fell directly into the bowl.  Fortunately, there was little to no backsplash of any sort, and so there was minimal mess of any kind.  And, because I was near the end anyway, I was, somehow, able to finish into the bowl.  Yet, not surprisingly, I panicked.  My sample, and the cup for that matter, were now in the bowl!  I didn't know what to do.  I zipped up, opened the door, and and had to face the waiting physician without a proper sample and with a multitude of embarrassed apologies.  She certainly was not happy, but she was not as upset as I thought she would be.  Well, she wasn't as upset as I would be if I was in her position. 

After I explained the situation, I offered to retrieve the misplaced cup, but, for some reason, the physician told me not to.  Again, I at this time really stress that this woman has definitely been in this business a long time.  I felt very guilty, yet very relieved.  I don't want to put my hand in a toilet bowl.  I'm not sure how she retrieved it.  Regardless, I did not doubt that she washed her hands. 

Yet, worse now was the realization that I could not just go back in there to give another sample.  That is not an ever-flowing source.  Now, I had to pound down more water, while sitting in the same room as the physician.  It's a small lab.  Sure, she busied herself wit other work, but I could feel her judgment the entire time.  It was penetrating, to say the least.  It took me about 20 to 30 minutes to feel ready to go again.  It was excruciating.  I refuse to read magazines in a doctor's office, because of the possibility of their possessing the contagion of past patients, or, in this case, the urine of past patients.  Finally, I was ready to go, I went in, and this time it was a success.  I signed all the necessary paper work, and got the hell out of there. 

From now on, if I am offered a job pending a drug test, I will categorically turn it down.  I don't care if the job is delicious cheese cake tester, I will turn it down.  All I know, Sola Squeeze better be the best job I've ever had.  

Interestingly enough, after writing this post, I really need to use the bathroom.