$500

Not even waiting in a sterile, windowless lobby for two hours can diminish the anticipation of getting  injected with an experimental anesthetic while blindfolded. But we’ve all been shot up with this or that countless times and this is hardly different: the expectation is always the worst part.

Unblinded a tiny square machine makes a perfect quarter-inch cut across my flesh and, again, it’s painless … until a Q-tip swabbed with rubbing alcohol touches the wound.

“We want you to draw a straight line on this graph to represent the greatest amount of pain you feel. Zero is absolutely no pain and 100 is the worst you have ever felt.”

A victim of nine broken bones, multiple concussions (I remember, once, being … sharper), assorted sprains, stitches and bruises, I draw right down the middle. As soon as my pen marks the paper the pain ceases.

In the crowded room a doctor-type man in a long, white lab coat asks questions and seems genuinely concerned about my well being even though it’s obvious that he feels ashamed to be doing this lowly of work. Two middle-aged female assistants with unrecognizable foreign accents carry out the grunt work. Three middle-aged men seated in the opposite corner, likely representatives of the pharmaceutical company, routinely glance my way while they discuss their excitement for a new reality TV show.

This is what prostitution feels like without the sex.

The procedure is repeated on my left arm. I’m in the room for 10 minutes. After that I kill half an hour before they check to make sure there’s no complications, but there’s no worry – everything always goes as planned. The entire routine is repeated the following week.

I gave up nearly six hours of my life, the vast majority of which was spent reading dated mens magazines, but the pay sure beats working a real job.