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My girlfriend wanted me to verify I was not shooting real bullets because I was tired of feeling like my shaft was stuck in neutral because I had to wear a fricking condom. I told her I was tied off but we both wanted to make sure I was not "live" before I ditched the $5 a box condoms.I came into your Lab with a doctor's order for a sperm sample. There were two other people behind me at the counter when you took the order from my hand and then asked me in a loud voice "When is the last time you ejaculated?" (I guess you wanted to know if I had enough spluge to give a good sample to run the test) WTF? Do you have to broadcast to the whole damn place that I'm there to shoot my load into a clear plastic cup? I told you that I should be good. You then have me go sit in the waiting room.I sat down and rifled through a bunch of magazines and found a two year old Sports Illustrated. I read it from cover to cover. Then you came into the waiting room and handed me a cup to do my deed. You then led me back to the front desk area where the only bathroom in the place is 3 feet away from the counter.Apparently I was expecting you to hand me a choice of porn material so I could get this done. But I now know that I will have to supply my own, in the future.I went into the bathroom (aka sperm sample room) and took out my limp dick. I try to remember the girl on the front of Cosmo magazine, that I saw briefly, and work to get a hard on when I hear on the other side of the door, a woman visibly upset that her insurance requires a copay for her bloodwork to be drawn. WTF? The girl on the cover of Cosmo quickly exits my mind as I am now listening to you try to calm this woman down. I turn the water on to try and drown out the conversation so I can shoot my load into the cup.At this point, I am now stripping all the way down to nothing so I can feel like I'm crawling into the sack with my girlfriend. I manage to get a rod up and proceed to stroke but guess what? There is no lotion. I NEED LUBE! I am going like a bat out of hell with both hands to know avail. I then discover the liquid soap in the liquid soap dispenser and damn near empty the thing into the palm of my hand. (sorry for using all the soap) So now I'm completely naked, jacking off in a public restroom and pink soap flying everywhere. (I flush the toilet to try and drown out the conversation between you and a coworker complaining about how your husband forgot your damn birthday) So with all this all going on it really is tough trying to stay somewhat aroused to get this sperm from inside my body into this cup. So I call my girlfriend, who is a corporate trainer, to see if I can get her to have phone sex with me. But of course she's training people and can't help me out, at all.After 45 minutes of front desk conversation, toilet flushing, and water running I finally getrdone. My heart is racing a hundred miles an hour, my arms hurt and I'm flat worn out. I rinse myself, wash the walls, get my clothes back on and take my sealed sample to you. You then ask me how'd it go? What kinda damn question is that? I smile and say great and then walk out the door. BTW, I have no live sperm and now can have proper intercourse with my girlfriend.Thanks for all your help Labcorp lady. I hope I never have to see you again.