Bang your head

Lucky for me I left a half hour early, because with the confusion on where to park, I ended up 10 minutes late to the main office. Head up the elevators to the 9th floor, where it looks like they have the whole floor for themselves. I end up having to explain to the receptionist that I will not be paying the $200 storage fee. The doctor is waiving that fee because they will be using it in a couple of months. So there is no need to store the specimen for 2 years and make me pay $200. Finally after calling the other office, she relents. But I’m still stuck with a $100 freezing fee I wasn’t expecting. As it is a special process that requires a specialist to perform, the fee makes sense. I just wish there was a little more disclosure about the fee when they requested me to do this 2 weeks ago.

They call my name, but instead of heading into a back area, we go back out into the hall by the elevators. Odd, but ok. She directs me to a door then hands me the cup. In addition to verifying how many days without sex it has been, I get another document to sign. This one is stating that my wife has the right to use my sperm in the case of my death. Really? There is really a legal battle over some dead guys sperm the requires me to have to sign what I consider a given. Only rich people argue over something so stupid. At least this one only costs me a signature and not more money.

I enter the door into a long thin room. To my right is a sink, a toilet and a little door with the same sign asking me to mark the time on the lid, initialize it, and ring the bell when I’m done. To my left is an overhead cabinet and 2 milk crates stacked on the floor to make shelves. In the milk crate shelves are assorted magazines with a little more variety, a couple of dvds and small TV/DVD unit on top of the makeshift furniture. In front of the TV is…you guessed it…a folding chair with a paper towel on it. BUT WAIT! This folding chair has padding. SCORE! They sure do know how to make a guy feel special in the big city. I turn to lock the door…THERE IS NO LOCK ON THIS DOOR! WTF! So anyone coming off the elevator can go straight to this door and pop it open while I’m…this sucks! I glance at the magazines, but I don’t need them. By now I’m a pro! Give me a folding chair, a cup and I’m good to go!

Finished I put the lid on the cup, mark the time, go to stand up…BANG! I sit back down, grab the top of my head with both hands as tight as I can, look up at the forgotten cabinet and begin cursing at it for its deliberate attempt to end my life. Or at the very least make me go blind. I should have known when I signed that other document. I pull my hand down off my head and see…blood. Perfect. I took solace in the fact of not having to face anyone after these sessions. Am I really going to have to cry for help and explain what happened here? Deciding against using the paper towel I’d been sitting on, I rush over to the sink for a clean one. Seeing that the blood wasn’t bad yet, I place the cup in the door, hit the bell and run to the elevator. And begin working on a cover story.

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