Surprised by a Stranger

On 21 June 2025 we were in Idaho, closing in on the end of a three-week road trip/vacation. I drove to Meridian to top off the gas tank at Costco and find a car wash to knock off weeks of road grime and road oil. The attendant directed me to the Rocket Express Car Wash about half a mile away. After two passes through the unit (truck was super dirty), I pulled into a space to vacuum the interior and wipe the drips and drops away. This is the only car wash I’ve ever been to where they supply small towels to wipe your vehicle, only asking that you return them to their laundry to get them washed for the next customers.

But I digress. I had just finished sucking the dirt out of the driver’s side and turned around to see a man standing behind me. He looked like somebody’s dad, upper thirties, a guy who spent a fair amount in the gym, and even though we were about the same height he probably had a good twenty pounds on me, and it wasn’t fat. The conversation went something like this.

He. “I wanted to come over and thank you.”

Blank look from me. “Pardon?”

“I saw your license plate.”

My reaction, I’m in Idaho driving a truck with California plates, so, I apologized. “Yeah, I’m from California, sorry about that.”

“No. You don’t understand. Last year I was being treated for leukemia. I required eighty units of blood.” His voice began choking with emotion. “You, people like you saved my life. When I saw your license, I had to thank you.”

I put my hand on his shoulder and all I could say was, “I was glad to do it.” Honestly, both of us were tearing up as we shook hands.

“I just needed to thank you.” With that he turned and walked back to where he had been cleaning his own vehicle.

Here in Bakersfield, donating blood is easy. You show up at one of three Houchin Blood Bank locations or find one of the mobile units, fill out some paperwork, they check your temperature, blood pressure and iron level. After that you relax in a recliner. They get a pint and enough for some simple tests. It takes about ten minutes. After that you go to the snack counter for donuts, fruit juices, coffee, cookies, snack bars, potato chips, La Rosa fruit bars, even some no sugar options. You eat and drink something to help get your blood pressure up and you’re on your way. There may be promotions for donors, T-shirts, free pizza coupons, giveaways, etc.

The whole process takes less than an hour. One hour (I can guarantee you waste more time than that every eight weeks) and a small needle stick. I don’t like needles, but it’s not that bad, especially when you realize that you have joined the 3% of eligible donors in the United States. Ninety-seven percent who are eligible don't. If you help raise that to 4%, even 5%, just think how many dads, moms, kids, even friends or maybe members of your family would be affected if you gave up one hour every two months.

At Houchin, every time you reach another gallon they give you a new license plate frame. Mine reads nine gallons, seventy units. I started late in life, in my 40s and didn’t always stay on schedule. There are donors who have exceed twenty-five gallons. Just know that each pint affects a life. Someone I never met before, and probably never will again, needed eighty units to get their life back.