[This was originally posted as a comment at bigsleepj's lj.]

When I was in college I went to this little place that would buy your blood. Yes, indeed. I sold my blood -- actually my blood plasma, if you want to get technical. The first time around they gave you $25. After that they'd give you $15. I used it to buy books. Not books I needed for school, but books for entertainment. Yeah. I was that hard up for money and entertainment.

It's a curious thing -- takes a lot longer than regular blood donation. They stick this huge needle in your arm, then pump it out. That's all well and good. But after the blood left my arm it'd go through a separation process so that they could get my plasma, and then they'd cycle the left-overs back into my arm -- and the stuff they pumped back in felt freezing cold, which only makes sense... not a nice 98.6F when they pumped it back in. Anyway, after that the process would begin again. The whole thing cycled maybe three or four times and it took about 45 minutes from start to finish, if I recall correctly.

I only did it a few times.

There were others there, however, who made a job of it. Even though you could only go once a month, and had to sign off that you hadn't given blood anywhere else within the last month, there were those who would go to all the different clinics that would buy their plasma, so that they were probably selling their blood at least once per week.

These were sad looking people. Some of them looked respectable, but just plain hard-up. Others left one guessing what they were purchasing with their blood money, and leaving little doubt about the guesses. A number of these had so much scar tissue from the innumerable previous visits that the techs had a difficult time getting through the scar tissue into a healthy, blood-ripe vein.

While waiting for my turn at the chair I started talking to one of these sad ones. He was a small guy. And a little off his head. He told me all kinds of stories about the assassinations her performed during "Beirut," and how he got screwed over by the government who sent him. He told me he'd been dishonorably discharged for murder. He wore an old army jacket. Probably picked it up cheap at the surplus store. But who knows.