Conversation with a Shopping Addict

When someone is literally taking your blood, it is advisable to be as agreeable as possible and not challenge their lifestyle values. Learn from this tale and save the financial evangelizing for another day:


The first thing the phlebotomist said as she wrapped the tourniquet around my arm was, "I have such a craving for chocolate."

"Okay," I replied, thinking this was her tactic to distract the patient from eyeing the needle. Not necessary, but appreciated. I have had my fair share of blood draws over the years, and am not bothered much by this anymore.

She continued, "I'm going to make my husband buy me some after this. Milk chocolate, mmm! This day is taking forever though. Were there many patients in the fitting room after you?"

I shook my head mutely, watching as she inserted the needle. Alright, maybe not a calming tactic. 



She then kept the tourniquet tightened (why?!) and let the needle sit there, without tape. The computer screen in front of us said I had 10 vials to fill. Fantastic.

"This is going to take awhile, we only have the pediatric sizes left," she muttered, "Oh, did I say fitting room? Sorry, shopping on the brain. I have plans with my husband to go to the mall tomorrow. I really hope the weather's nice. What is it supposed to be like?"

I'm not Siri. Internally, I feel guilty for this thought, but would like her to stop making small talk and pay more attention to the task at hand.

"I'm not sure, maybe some rain...hey, the needle's coming out," I observe, wincing as the blood flow stops suddenly. My arm has fallen asleep from the tourniquet, but aches a bit around where the band sits. Can we take this off? This is not being done the way I've ever had blood taken before. I contemplate not being so passive.

She sighs, sliding the needle a bit (while it was still in my arm) and jabs it around, still under the skin. Twice. I stare at her in disbelief.

"It's not working anymore. I think the tourniquet has to be removed."

"No, that's not it. This vein is giving up on me, let me see your other arm," she sighs again, pursing her lips, "Anyway, do you like to shop? I love shopping. I'm looking forward to it so much."

She finally takes the tourniquet off my arm, laughing, "I spend more than I actually make though. It's a problem."

Sucks to be you. At least I can feel my arm again. No, I'm not that mean. I'm interested, baited. Do I have a heart-to-heart with this person about managing money, or do I let it go? She has control over the needles and is more than a bit scattered. What was going to be a simple, quick draw has turned into something else entirely.

"Yeah, shopping can be a problem. Though I window shop more these days."

"That's sad. I will proudly admit- I am a shopping addict."

"Addict?"

"Yes, I shop pretty much everyday."

"What do you end up buying most often?"

"Oh, I don't know, everything and nothing really. Clothes. Shoes. Most are in my closets at home, price tags still on. I would like to get another bottle of Coco Mademoiselle, Chanel perfume. Ever smell it before?"

I shake my head again, watching her discard the mostly empty vial into the biomedical waste bin.

"Oh, you should! It's divine! It's almost my birthday, but I don't want to wait to be given it as a gift. I want to have it to wear that evening, you know? Yes, I should buy that perfume tomorrow...oh, this vein will do."

On goes the tourniquet. Round two. Ouch. Still no tape?!

"Yeah, it can be hard to be patient for that kind of thing..." I trail after a moment, counting the full tubes. Nine down. One to go. Come on...

Then she inexplicably pulls the needle out, gives me a bandage and says, "You're all set."

"I'm sorry, we need one more vial," I say politely, though I am feeling anything but.

"What? No, you're all done," she insists, "Have a nice weekend!"

"No," I persist, "the screen says I'm to give 10. There are only nine done here."

She pauses, emptying the container of vials and spreads them out like cards, counting each one, "Crap, you're right. Well, there's enough blood in this to count for that last one too."

I look at her and blink a couple times before pressing, "Are you certain? Please double-check. I don't want to have to come back here for this."

"Yes, it will be fine," she says without a pause, "There's enough here."

"...Happy shopping."

"Thanks! Off you go!"


As bizarre of an experience as that was, it was refreshing to hear someone talk openly about their finances, albeit down a troublesome path. I only wish that conversation could have taken place in a different setting, where it would have been acceptable to ask more questions, to better understand where her financial habits stem from and perhaps help her make a positive change in some way.