There are 13 people in the waiting room. As I enter, every last one of them looks at me, notices my brown paper bag, wonders perhaps if I have brought snacks. Sorry. No. This is my semen sample.

The room is silent, musty, magazines strewn everywhere. The mood is identifiably unpleasant (as one might expect from a crowd of people waiting to be stuck with a needle). I approach the reception desk where a rudimentary sign tells me to sign in. The fact that the word “please” has been highlighted in yellow highlighter pen so vigorously that the paper has begun to disintegrate under all of that fluorescent yellow ink leads me to believe they’re serious.

I set my brown bag down on the white counter, revealing a sweat stain on the rolled-up section I’ve used as a handle, and I begin to scribble-in the usual demographic data. Name, D. Evans. Insurance carrier, The Big Blue One. New address since last visit, no. Do you have a sample to drop off, yes.

Before I can even set the pen down, a woman behind the counter addresses me.

“ARE YOU DROPPING OFF A SAMPLE, SIR?” she says in a voice that loudly and horrifically approximates the combined delicate, dulcet tones of Carol Channing, David Lee Roth and a goat with a very productive chest cold.

“Yes,” I say meekly, holding up my brown bag. “Right here.”

“WHAT KIND OF SAMPLE IS IT?” she asks matter-of-factly, as if she expects me to blurt out the answer, which would imply that saying “semen” in a room full of strangers is, in her mind, no different than saying “sponge cake” or “latte” or “blue-haired fuzz-muncher.”

Everyone in the waiting room leans in a bit to hear my response (because when you’re waiting with utter dread to have blood drawn by a steamroller of a phlebotomist, there’s no better way to pass the time than by listening to strangers use embarrassing words like “fecal” or “urine”).

“What are my options?” I say with a smirk, half joking and half hoping that she’ll actually run down a list of sample types so when she gets to “semen” I can say “Yes! That one! That last thing you said!”

She looks at me. I can see her calculating. I am clearly not the first pussy she has encountered in this line of work.

“IS IT A SEMEN SAMPLE?” she yells.

“Yes. Yes it is.”

“POST-VASECTOMY?”

Yes.”

She reaches out for the bag and I hand it to her. She tears it open like Christmas fucking morning and grabs the small, clear plastic cup with the green lid. She holds it up near her blind-ass eyes so she can read the label, and suddenly every single person in the waiting room has a clear, unobstructed view of my semen.

Then she hands it back to me.

(Because I wasn’t humiliated enough at this point.)

“NEED YOU TO WRITE YOUR NAME ON IT, HUN,” she says.

“Oh. Of course.”

You know, it’s hard enough writing your name on something round (like a cup), but fill that something round with something you really don’t want on your hands and do it in front of a minion of strangers who know that this particular something round contains a batch of your goo, and writing your name on the something round becomes damn near impossible. It’s kind of like wiping your ass with the back of your head.

I hand the signed cup back to The Punisher and she finally dismisses me. She says my doctor should have the results in three or four days. I say thank you, then turn and walk away. I keep my head down all the way to the door. Eye contact with anyone in this room would be a very, very, VERY bad idea.

As soon as I get my quivering hand on the door knob, The Punisher calls out from behind the counter.

“HUN?” she says, holding up my cup and giving it a delicate little shake. “YOU’RE A LITTLE LIGHT HERE. LOOKS LIKE YOU COULD USE MORE ZINC IN YOUR DIET.”

Comments

That is just hilarious. Sorry to hear about your zinc imbalance... both my husband and I just about lost our beverages of choice through the nose laughing at this one.

If only you could go through this fun and excitement again - it's some of the best internet reading ever.

Sounds like you need to order some oysters on the half shell next time you go out to eat!

I bet most of those people are going in for a Viagra prescription and ENVY you for being able to produce a SEMEN sample on your very own.

Ha!

My husband is a bigger wuss... he made me take his sample in.

Hahahaha, ya poor bastard!

At least she didn't ask you how long ago it was "collected."

isn't there some sort of hippa thing now regarding privacy? seems kind of stupid because every time i have been to the dr. or urgent care the walls are paper thin and everyone talks loud. there is no privacy!

Hilarious! I especially loved the "wiping your ass with the back of your head" comment.

Far be it from me to nitpick about the clarity of your writing, but for a moment I thought that the implication was that you should have written your name on the sample rather than the cup. I would have paid to see the video of that.
Of course, had you not been turned into a girl by your recent operation, in response to the question "what kind of sample is it", you would have riposted "taste it and see", with the optional addition of the word "bitch".
And, of course, you should have taken a much larger container, no matter how empty it would have been.

Where does all this wit come from, man? Can't you lend it to me for a while; I've been failing to write, at all for nearly a fortnight now. My world is coming to an end. But, thanks - at least I can go down smiling!

All I have to say is (a) thank God I'm not a man, and (b) thank God I'll never have a vasectomy.

man, and i thought urine samples were bad enough - having all that pressure to perform on a schedule, and then i'm all worried that they would judge me on the color or something (chart: "pee looks like she eats nothing but junk. explains the size of her ass.")

but being judged on semen, sounds even worse...

Oh? That was you. Yes, more Zinc. Trust me.

*It’s kind of like wiping your ass with the back of your head.*

Pure genius.

Oh I cant let my boyfriend read this post, or ill never be able to talk him into getting one done...

You have got to be kidding me...I would have kill her right where she stood. My husband actually refused to go back for the 'see if their dead' samples, he just used condoms for the next 4 months. That was hilarious....

Mwahahahahahahah. Thanks for today's laugh.

Look at it this way, after the loud broad SAW your semen sample, she went from calling you "sir" to calling you "hun." Oh, she wanted you...uh huh. LMAO

First time to your journal, and I love it!

And Wife is trying to talk me into getting one of those. Yah right. Thanks for the ammo for my argument.

Ah! so you were at minyan! good boy!

Gotta love the jew puns.

Hope you had less than a minyan in that there bottle. But, ew. let's don't discuss it further. I'll let everyone else do that.

Um.... good luck?
Keep in touch?

major HIPAA violation.... http://www.cms.hhs.gov/HIPAAGenInfo/Downloads/HIPAAlawdetail.pdf

but does make for hilarious bloggin'

OMG, I wish I could find another way to say "you're so funny" but I'll just have to repeat myself again.
This vasectomy has give you some definite fodder. Funny, funny, funny.

Man! You always make me laugh right out loud! Hope there are no swimmers in the pool so you don't have to go through any more of this humiliation.

I think you should have taken a couple of days to, uh, work on filling the cup all the way full. Just to see the look on her face when you give her a half a litre of semen.

Or even better, mix in some miscellaneous ingredients like flour, milk, and perhaps beef vegetable soup.

This totally reminds me of that scene in "She's Having a Baby" with Kevin Bacon! Thanks for the laugh!

I have an upset tummy. Reading this post and laugh uproariously didn't help. But my headache is better. Thanks.

This post makes me want to vomit a little. You should have labeled the bag "Baby Batter."

My husband did not have the foresight to put the damn sample in a bag. Yep, walked in with it right out in the open. He was mortified, probably explains why he always carries a brown bag in his car now...

NO she didn't!!

Okay, that killed me. But still, it could have been worse. At least it was YOUR sample. I got to carry in Hubby's. Nothing like giving a sperm sample when you don't even have the testicles.

My husband had to take a sample in after a few months of trying to get pregnant. My doctor wanted to rule him out as the problem. Not only did he have to hand over his sample in front of a room full of people, but it COULDN'T be in a bag. In fact, he was instructed to keep the sample under his shirt to keep it warm in transit.