I showed up on time. Checked in, filled out every form they gave me. My biggest concern was having all my cards demagnetized at that point.
"Take the elevator behind you & see Donovan" I was told. Of course I expected to see the pop folk singer, dressed like Dylan's younger brother circa 1966, an acoustic guitar slung over his shoulder saying something like "The continent of Atlantis was an island which lay before the great flood ...".
Instead it was a Marvin Hagler -on-a-good-day-look-alike who gave me instructions on putting all my stuff away and then how to lie down in the tunnel like contraption.
He gave me earplugs and the machine began to whir. I was immobile, going into a tunnel. The tunnel contained me like a coffin. I couldn't breathe. I hadn't prepared in any way for this.
The fucking thing was too claustrophobic for words. I freaked out & bailed!
I told Donovan I needed a minute to collect myself. Did he smirk or was he understanding? A sphinx.
Well, I could have talked myself into the project, but I was unstrapped as quickly as I had been readied. The technicians seemed used to this everyday aborted mission. Another brain scan pussy.
I am more disturbed by my own unmanly cowardice than I am by the prospect of a tumor for which they don't have any decent treatment anyway. I called the doctor's office & left a message...well, a confession. They will probably play it around the office for laughs. Hopefully at the office holiday party if it makes the Top Ten. Oh well.
I'd never make it a day at Guantanamo.