Violated Again

This may be my last post ever. The world may end tonight at midnight and we’ll all gone. I hope it doesn’t end like. I am still looking forward to zombies. Aside from my craving for a zombie apocalypse, this isn’t what this post is going to be about. I want to talk to you about the horrible ordeal I had to go through the other day. I was violated again. The last night was years ago and the memory of a large man rubbing me dry with a cloth, still haunts my dreams. If you feel like it, click this link right here and read about the time I was violated.

I hoped you read it. If you didn’t then you really won’t understand the sheer horror I had to experience just the other day when I decided to let another person touch me. I am a person who doesn’t like to be touched. I don’t like people shaking my hands and I don’t like it when large men rub me down with a cloth towel and ask me, “are you doing okay?” I was doing just fine until you made my visit to the doctor into some perverted and sick fantasy for yourself. That day still haunts me. But that day isn’t the day that made be the way I am. I still cannot and will not recall why I don’t like being touched. If something bad did happen to me as a child, I sure did block that son of  gun out. I just rather not shake your hand. I will hide in a corner to avoid you. I will cut off my hand to not shake yours. That is how much I dislike the handshaking. I had to do it today with a customer. His arm is extended and since I am sort of a manager, I felt it was my civic duty to treat customers with some sort of respect. But if this customer had his arms stretched out for hug and waited for me to bring it in, I would have given that North Face jacket wearing dude a well deserved upper cut. But I can’t punch by way out of a paper bag and there is no way I can punch a guy twice by size and live to tell the tale. Besides, I think punching customers is against my store’s policy. I guess Mr. North Face lucked out.

This violating story starts with me slacking on getting this done. I am a procrastinator and I am pretty bad with completing certain tasks. I am not lazy all the time. I am really hardly lazy. I just have a list a mile long of things I plan on working on and the list just gets bigger and bigger and never once, not in a few years, has this list gotten anything marked off. That my friends is how bad I am with procrastinating. I had to complete some stuff for work so I can save money and when people save money, it makes people happy. Happy people are nice people. Saving money is nice. I like money. If I want to be happy and roll in the money I save, I better step up and finish this crap up. I have but one thing to finish up and I will finally get her off my back and I can go back to procrastinating about other things.

Why are you smiling!?

Why are you smiling!?

I could either do three things. I can get a flu shot, I can get an eye exam, or I can get a dental cleaning. I picked the flu shot. It was stupid of me to. I don’t like needles at all. I could have done an eye exam or a dental cleaning but I imagine those things cost more money and I rather spend money on things I don’t need. I don’t need a flu shot since getting sick is hardly something that happens to me. Whatever. I don’t need to explain to you why I got a flu shot and not the others. I am trying to explain to you about me getting violated during my flu shot. It was horrible. Not as bad as the other time but still bad nonetheless.

I head to a minute clinic. I was hoping I would get in there and get out in a timely manner. I was still working and left work just to get this flu shot out-of-the-way and finally get this lady off my back. I punch in my information in the computer. I am the next person in line. Someone is in the room ahead of me. I am not an eavesdropper but I did the man talking to the nurse about his cholesterol. Looks like someone needs to fix that. Maybe sharing that breaks some code but I am not a doctor and I really don’t understand what a hippopotamus has to do with doctors and sharing people’s information. The nurse walks out. He looks at me and nods,

It’ll just be another minute.

Cool. I am gonna be out of here in no time and I can get back to work and making another batch of effin’ stuffing. The guy lied to me. It was longer than a minute. It was like 10. I waited and waited for him and the man in the room to finish talking about his cholesterol. I sit and wait some more till he finally lets the guy leave and I am next in line to be served.  I walk in the room. It is small. There are no windows and there is only one exit to this tiny, cell-like room. He smiles and greets me.

Please shut the door.

I am now trapped in this room with no way out. The nurse, Richard, is blocking the only door out of the S&M torture chamber of his. I just want a flu shot. I just want you to do your job and let me leave. I don’t want any funny business. I explain to Richard that I am here for a flu shot. I don’t tell him that I am scared of needles. He’ll find out soon enough when he pulls that needle out of his pocket and treats me like I am a character in Hostel. There are plenty of people in the world who don’t like needles. Don’t blame us. Why would someone want a sharp object jammed into their skin? That’s crazy! But there I am. I am sitting in this room with nowhere to go, just waiting for Richard to stick that needle into my arm and scar me emotionally for the rest of my life.

There was a poster explaining about acne and what it was. Another one showed you the proper way to cough. I was trying to read the poster about the acne but I couldn’t. It was far away from where I was sitting and the font was small but that didn’t matter. Not being able to read that poster made me question myself about not needing an eye exam. I’d get my eyes checked but I can wait on that. I’ll put it on my list of things to do. Promise. Richard talks to me, chatting about what I do and how he loves the food we prepare. Said he only eats there on lunch. He put a strange emphasis on the word, “only“.  That tidbit of information serves no purpose to this story. I just thought I would share it with you because I want you to feel like you’re in this room with me and the nurse with the untied shoelace.

Richard digs in his drawer of weapons and other torture devices. He pulls out a needle, a band-aid, and a small bottle of a clear liquid that if I didn’t know any better, is something biological warfare related. He asks me what hand I use to write with. I tell him I am a lefty. He has me roll up my sleeve and is vocal about letting me know that I need to roll it up all the way and if that doesn’t work,

You will need to find another alternative.

I am no dummy but I think he was trying to get me to take my shirt off. I fiddle with my tie, nervously. I don’t know what to do. I kind of want to leave but I also want this shot done so I can save money and also get the gal off my back. I roll up my sleeve. I am pulling at it. I am tugging on it. I will get the sleeve up high enough just to keep my shirt on and not have Richard coax me into taking off another article of clothing, until I am sitting there all full monty. I manage to get my sleeve rolled all the way up. +1 for me.

Richard rolls over to me on his chair. He holds the needle and tries to comfort me with a few kinds words. I didn’t say it then  and I still kept quiet about my fear of needles. I was shaking in the chair. I was fidgeting. I was shaking and I think I was about to have a major panic attack because that needle, even though it was the size of a pen cap, looked more like a sword to me. My legs were going crazy. It won’t stop shaking. Richard hushes me. He whispers silently and a little seductively that everything will be okay. With that little performance, Richard made his next move. This was the icing on the cake. This is how I was violated. Richard hushes me again and then proceeds to rub his hands up and down my arm. He was treating my arm like it was  a stripper pole. Just going up and down, smiling and comforting me that everything will be okay. I take a deep breath and turn my head. I don’t look. I close my eyes and squeeze tightly to keep all light and any chance of the needle’s reflection to be seen. Any glimmer on that needle’s image could be burned in my retinas forever.

All done.

Richard was all smiles about the crap he just injected me with. He even places a band-aid on me to cover up the damage and the permanent scar he left with me. He pats my knee and lets me know that I was a real trooper about the whole thing. Thanks for that, Rich. Why don’t you toss me a lollipop and a sticker too? I am not a child. I may cry like a child when it comes to needles but I am not a child. I cannot be bought with pats on the back, stickers, and lollipops. I just got shot with a needle, Dick! It was the worst pain ever. I don’t care if you think I am a wuss for being squeamish about a needle but they scare me. I get nervous around needles, around hugs, crowds, and I got flustered when I saw some hot gal who came in wearing these jeans that were way too tight on her but okay for me to stare and gawk at. That last one was a poor example. I just wanted to talk about her. She had a BMD. (Booty of Mass Destruction)

I will never get another shot again. I don’t want go through that ordeal again. I didn’t like getting that needle stuck in my arm and really didn’t like the fact that Richard rubbed my arm down like he was rubbing down a large shaft. It was creepy. It was unpleasant. It was violating.


You scared of needles? Do you like getting shots or not? I’d love to know. Share it below. Let me know if you have the same fear of needles I do. Share me a story about an experience you had with needles.


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I like food. I like the smell of cinnamon.

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