I'm not squeamish

We had a blood drive at work yesterday.  I'm not squeamish about the whole needle thing, but I did get squeamish when the lady doing my paperwork started asking me so many questions about my lifestyle and sexual habits that I felt, well, a little dirty when she was done.  Shouldn't she as least bought me lunch before she started with "Have you ever taken drugs or money in exchange for sex?"

I know that they have to ask these questions for a reason, but couldn't they ask them in a small, dark cubicle with a partition in it so you can't see each other but hear each other--hey, wait isn't that a confessional?  It's a lot harder to answer questions about whether you had group sex with the Traveling Tonys of the Trapeze the last time the circus was in town when you are sitting right across from her in her little white lab coat under the bright white lights just a few feet from where you earn your daily bread.  If you're lucky, you might even have a coworker just outside the door to look at while you answer delicate questions like:  "Have you ever had sex with a six-toed midget under the full moon in Texas in January of 1986?"  "Have you ever had sex with anyone born in Africa before 1977?"  "Have you ever traveled outside the United States and had sex with someone named Paolo in the elevator on the way up to your room?"  "Do you understand these questions or do you have any questions of your own?"  "Um, let's see..no.  But can I get your number?"