…And the people from the clinic lost my results.
Today there were free (anonymous, rapid) HIV tests at my workplace (which is big, so there was little chance of me actually knowing anybody else there. Not that I was particularly worried about the anonymity part anyway.) I went in, filled out a survey about my sexual history (where it occurred to me for possibly the first time that I have done some really dumb shit in my life, like snorting drugs off the same twenties as whoever it was that was giving me the drugs. Not that I do that regularly–or at all for about three years now–but still.)
Half an hour later I went back to get my results, and they couldn’t find them. There were two paper towels laid out on a table, with three tests on each one, and none of them had my name on it. Was there a negative group and a positive group? Was there really a 50% positive rate? Did they give someone else my results by mistake? One guy started going through the trash to see if they’d thrown mine out, but thought better of it, then told me that actually they hadn’t gotten any positives at all today.
Which, fine, whatever. I’m pretty sure I’m negative, anyway. But what was bugging me more than anything was the way the people didn’t seem really worried about losing my test. THEY COULD HAVE GIVEN SOMEONE ELSE THE WRONG RESULTS. And then I was thinking about if my test had come back positive–would I have wanted these people to be the ones to tell me?
Don’t get me wrong, they were nice enough and seemed pretty knowledgeable and I got there toward the end of what was probably a long day. But Jesus Christ.
The worst thing is that it’s not the first time it’s happened to me. The very first time I ever went for an HIV test, back when it took a week to get the results, they couldn’t find mine when I went back. Is this something that happens often? Is the world that inept? Or do I just have bad luck when it comes to finding out if I have diseases?
It’s funny, incidentally, that the clinic was today, since getting tested is one of those things I always put off for way longer than I should. (See also: changing the oil in my truck.) And I went just a few hours after I did something else I’ve been putting off for, well, my whole life thusfar: I went to a gym for the first time ever.
And not just any gym, mind you, but a personal training studio that’s wicked expensive but run by an insanely hot man with incredible legs, whose dangly nutsack I could totally see pressed against his cute little shorts. (I think I did a pretty good job of not staring.)
But that’s not why I went. I’ve felt pretty shitty about my weight lately, and even though I have a free gym at my disposal thanks to my job, I’m never going to use it because I’m a wimp and a loser and really insecure about athletic things and also also completely inept when it comes to knowing things like what machines do. And while I’ve started running, I think it’ll just be easier if I have someone else around to tell me what to do and how to do it and, like, what posture to have so I don’t wreck my back doing it.
Fun fun fun.
Unrelatedly to all of that, the girl at the coffee place I go to made me an Orange Juice CD because I told her I didn’t have any. Consolation Prize was on a mixtape I got in high school and until today I don’t think I’d heard it since I had a car with a cassette player in it (2003 at the latest, although I think it might have been more like ’01.) I’ve gone on about Edwyn Collins here before, so I’ll keep that to a minimum and just give you the song to listen to.
Orange Juice, Consolation Prize
