Give me an H (H) Give me an I (I) Give me a V (V)! What does that give you? EITCH-AY-VEE! And what does that give you? AIDS! Well, now, that’s debatable!
I suffer from an acute case of political incorrectness. In a court of law, with my hand on the first Harry Potter book, I solemnly swear, ‘I am a good person, but I do like to laugh. In or out of a propriate. Amen. Oh and Voldemort is a demon in the bedroom.’
It was a happy day. The birds had shut up from their incessant wrist-slitting chirping and I hadn’t gotten up to pee all night. Not even once. Oh yes, it was a day of miracles!
I had just fallen in love; you could even still see the bruises on my knees. I jumped out of bed after 17 snoozes, ate breakfast while standing on the scale and threw on my very sexy gym clothes, black baggies and an old t-shirt donated by the winner of The Biggest loser. Let’s go let’s go let’s go! I’m a gym girl, yes I am, woo! Go team! SHUTUP INNER VOICE!
Jogging at a walking pace, fantasizing about my new man, my brain started sawing its way out and hitchhiked to a very very dark place. I wonder if he’s been tested. Have I been tested? When was the last time I was tested? Have I been with anyone since then? Should I be worried? Why did Bambi’s mom have to die? Bambi is probably dead by now or the oldest deer in the world! I should get tested again. I can go next week. But what if I’m positive, I should go sooner, I… And with that last thought, DOOF, missed a step, head first onto the handlebars. I gotta go!
Every time I’ve taken a friend to get tested, I’d volunteer to go as well because I’d had unprotected sex with 593 people, men, women and hermaphrodites (slight exaggeration).
Nerves had kicked in and built a nest in my wind pipe as I walked into the clinic. YAY! Free condoms! Grab grab grab. And they aren’t even the ones that the Government accidentally stapled. After trying to transfer my rubber acquisitions from one hand to the other so that I could put my name down, the receptionist gave me a box. I said my name was Jeremy. A girl named Jeremy, too obviously a lie?
I waited for half an hour before I went even though there wasn’t anyone else there. I think they wanted to give me the allusion of busy-ness. I’m fooled ya’all, you got me, you’re busy!
I was called in, it felt like the principal calling me personally over the intercom announcing that my dad had come to fetch for my colon cleanse.
The young consultant started with quick questions, ‘Have you been tested before bla bla bla, how often do you have sex bla bla bla, what’s your favourite position bla bla bla’, the usual makes-you-really-think oral examination. Then there was a quick prick and all the formalities were out the way. 15 minutes until the results are out. Just enough time for 2 cigarettes. But I don’t smoke. Enough time to go through every possible outcome and scenario, have an anxiety attack and conceive 15 children.
I got up to leave the little room and wait outside. The chipper chap stopped me, asking me what I did for a living. I told him. OH! His eyes glowing at the prospect of me snatching him from out of his pre-HIV-test-consultancy per-hour job and saving him! ‘I’d like you to read something’ he said. WHAT?! I just had a fucking needle in me testing me for a life-threatening disease, you are stealing my 15 minutes of WHAT-IF time and you want me to reeeead something?!! Do you know where we are?!! Do you know what your job is?!! Do you know how many calories are in a kilogram and you want me to reeead something??
I managed to get out, ‘Er, W-w-w-hat is it?’
He smirked, ‘It’s a play I’ve written. I’m looking for a producer. Can you read it and see if you like it?’
‘What’s it about?’ I asked.
‘It’s a Zimbabwean musical!!’
‘Oh. Um. Could I perhaps read it when I come back, after I’ve got my results?’
Despondently he said, ‘Ok lady! Come back in 10 minutes’
I’d lost 5 minutes of my feel-sorry-for-myself time. I walked slowly to the bathroom. I tried really hard to look into the mirror and find something deeper, more meaningful. Nah, what the hell! I wonder what they have in the vending machine. A minute had passed in what seemed like a millennium-long, scream-filled space/time vacuum. I was twitching and cold, I thought I had rigor mortis.
Finally! Time to go back. Oh my whatever-is-the-right-religion’s God. Help me. Protect me. Let things be ok. If I’m positive, I’ll be a pioneer of the Virus, I’ll motivate school kids and college students, I’ll climb Everest and show how you can be positive being positive. And dear holiness guy, if I’m negative, I’ll never ever ever have sex again!
I walked in and the guy is sitting at his little desk talking with his back to me. And then I realised, HE WAS ON HIS PHONE! He was llaaauughinng and having a good time while the future of my bodily planet was in his hands!! EXCUUUSE ME?! He looked at me and gave me the hand! He gave me the hand! Wait, I’m busy it said. Wait, I’m talking to my fried on my phone and we’re having fun!! Oh yes, yes yes yes, I know your results but I’m not going to tell you because YOU didn’t read my Zimbabwean musical! So now you can wait! That’s what THE HAND was saying! I need to know my results!! Just tell me! Just tell me!! And get off your $%^P(*^ phone!!!
He told his friend to hold and then he looked at me and said, ‘You’re fine’ and carried on with his call!! ‘You’re fine’ THAT’S IT! That’s all I get? No hug, no congratulations, no use a condom, no nothing? I stood there unearthed as he reached into the draw with one hand and waved the tube in my face so I could see for myself.
Ok, thanks. Thanks nice man who has really made this a fantastical experience for me. Fun fun fun at the HIV clinic. Come on everybody, come and have fun with Bozo who’s on the phone and has written an international bestselling Zimbo singalong! Come on! Free tests, get your free tests today! Party tiiiiime!
I motioned to the door, forgetting the hard-arse in me who would have usually erupted at the incident, but considering the sensitivity of this particular issue, I was genuinely shaking with nervous laughter. Then, of all unacceptable things to say and do, Bozo, the clown consultant, tapped me on the shoulder waving some paper in my face, ‘So, are you going to read this?’ Am I going to read it? AM I GOING TO READ IT!? I nodded, thinking what a wonderful firestarter it would make when I burn down his devil-ridden soul! I snatched it and left the office snarling.
There was now quite an impressive sized queue at the front desk. I walked toward the exit, head held high, desperate to get to the car. The receptionist after shouted at me, ‘Jeremy! You forgot this!’ I turned around and saw her grinning at me waving something in her hand. And that very moment, it felt like I had farted while making an announcement at school assembly. I stopped. I looked at her. I looked at everyone now glaring at me. And with one quick move, I stormed back toward her, grabbed my box of free condoms and left!
