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As the previous week had passed (from the train ride on Tuesday until dinnertime on Sunday night), I had been brainstorming ideas on how I could pick up extra cash—any extra cash. The airport was an hour away by bus, so I had thought about collecting luggage carts and returning them for the 25¢ deposit as I had seen other guys doing in my past travels. It would have been a great plan at LAX or Dulles. But then I was told that the tiny Charleston airport services about seven flights a day to about two destinations throughout the Southeast, so returning twelve carts a day wouldn’t even be worth making the trip uptown.

Going door-to-door cutting grass had worked wonders when I was ten years old, so I figured that soliciting the same service in Charleston could translate into easy money. I kept that idea in my back pocket as a last resort in the event that I was really hard up.

Then, at dinner on Sunday night, some of the guys started talking about donating plasma, which they had been doing for months. The process, as I was told, was simple and would yield an easy $30 if I could put up with a needle in my arm for an hour or so.

So, on Monday morning after breakfast, I decided to accompany Marco to SerumOn, where he donated plasma twice a week. Before I left the shelter, I showed the nurse that I didn’t have the spots on my arm from the TB injection, and she signed me off as qualified to remain a resident. Then, using the voucher that Ms. Evelyn had given me, we were able to stop by to obtain my official state identification card. Conveniently, the South Carolina Department of Motor Vehicle was along the same long bus route that went to SerumOn, but even with their remarkable efficiency, it was 12:30 before we arrived at the front steps of SerumOn.

Situated west of the Ashley River (“West Ashley” for the locals) in an office complex with a host of other doctor and dentist offices, SerumOn sets itself apart with neon posters radiating out of the front window.

“Donate plasma here!”

“Save a life and get easy money at the same time!”

“Refer a friend and get $25!”

Despite the satisfaction that I would walk out with a check in my pocket, the atmosphere at SerumOn had already made me feel sleazy. Even before I knew how the process worked, I felt like I was selling a part of myself. I was inviting the doctors and their assistants to have their way with my bodily fluids for a price. I was a plasma whore, and for $30 plus, I didn’t mind at all.

Eight people were scattered throughout the lobby, waiting for their number to be called to go make their donation. Marco already had his donor number, so he signed his name and went about waiting with the rest of the donors, but I had to go through the burdensome process of filling out forms and then getting a physical. A full physical, where they check your entire body for any health issues that could inhibit your ability to donate. But I played along. Besides, it had been quite some time since I had a full physical, so I saw it as getting a bonus check-up with a doctor to go along with my $30.

I was led back to the lobby where I waited for five minutes.

“Adam Shepard?” the attending nurse announced.

I stood up. “That’s me.”

“You’re up.”

Before they took me into the donating room, we detoured by a holding area where routine tests were performed with each of the donors before each visit. The doctor’s assistant began by testing my blood pressure. Interestingly enough, my blood pressure was a little high, but I figured that could only work to my advantage in pumping the blood out of my system quicker than everybody else’s normal blood pressure would. The assistant then checked my body weight and tested my blood for proper iodine levels. Finally, she asked me a series of twenty-five or so questions, determining my qualification to donate.

“Have you tested positive for AIDS or HIV?”

No.

“Were you born or have you lived in or received medical treatment in any of the following countries since 1977: Cameroon, Central