I was in a certain shopping establishment, notorious for their great selection of products, low prices and on really busy days, lines at the tills so long they would rival a great depression bread line, not just in length…. I’d put them on par with morale as well. Having the attention span (and memory) of a goldfish, I get bored easily so what else do you do in a line of people? Talk. Behind me was a course looking gentleman with a cart full of groceries who was obviously sent by his wife (1- He had a list (2- His cart was full of healthy food and personal hygiene products (3- (The final nail in the “My Wife sent me coffin”) He looked at me and said
“The Ol’ Lady asks me to pick up milk (in his best wife impression voice) and just a couple more things, (either this guy was not a very good impersonator, or he is actually married to Sloth from “The Goonies”) does this look like a couple of things? I should trade her in,hey?”
We both laugh and I say
“Well, I don’t see any Midol in there, so it can’t be TOO bad when you get home, hey?….”
He stares blankly at me for a couple of seconds (felt like an hour) then cracks a smile
“You must not be married” (I think I made a friend)
In front of me was an older woman standing beside her cart organizing how and in what order she would place her goods on the conveyor when the time came. (We were so far from the till, for all we knew, we were patiently waiting in line for the bathroom) Her hair was gray and thin, her face was wrinkled detailing a lifetime of experience. We made eye contact and I did the ol’ simultaneous nod-and-say-hello-with-a-slight-hand-wave-gesture. She smiled and said “Hi” I thought that would be the end of our exchange , but she was talkative, for the first few moments it was your typical humdrum conversation topics you do with most strangers.
“It’s been quite cold, the wind chills you to the bone”
or
“This line is sure taking it’s time”.
I looked down and saw my milk had fallen over and was using a soft, fresh loaf of bread as a kickstand, me hating squished bread (Thank you Mom for another inherited quirk) reached into the cart to fix a potentially disastrous situation and to survey the damage. My sleeve’s were rolled up to my elbows exposing half of a tattoo on the inside of my forearm (elbow pit?). That’s when I heard her ask
“Why do you have Tattoos?”
She asked without any of the typical condescension most older people have when talking about Tattoos, a sincere, genuine, curious question from a woman no younger than 70. I paused for a moment and let the question sink in. I immediately realized that nobody has ever asked me that before, people ask “What does that tattoo mean?” or “did that hurt?”
(do they hurt? Yes, anybody who says they don’t is a liar…. or insecure….or I’m a wuss) But nobody has ever asked me to encapsulate why I have them in the first place. Here goes, I have been Blessed/Cursed with being a sentimental and nostalgic person, (Thank you Mom for another inherited quirk) I believe out-of-sight, out-of-mind is a real truth. Friendships fade, relationships come and go but Tattoos are as close as we can get to something that’s tangible and permanent. (and yet, you can get them removed) I can look at any one of them and re-live the experience, meaning and emotion any time I desire, I like that, it serves the same purpose as a sticky note on your fridge, a reminder “Pick up eggs today” * snaps fingers * “That’s right!” They are not all happy memories but the purpose is not to dwell on a constant negative. (Side note- I don’t have a really dark mysterious past and I’m not COVERED in tattoos either) The purpose is to learn from the experience, the reminder. I look at some and re-live the darker side of it and feel a moment of depression, that having been said I also look at some of them and feel a moment of absolute joy, but I think that’s a fair trade. It’s one of those “have your cake and eat it too” scenarios, Why would I want to be less passionate when I’m sad, At the obvious cost of feeling less passionate about being happy? That’s why I said “Blessed/Cursed”….. That’s what I meant to say to her anyway, I was so taken aback by her mental sumo of a question all I could muster was a dazed
“Because they’re neat”…..
Thus killing any shred of hope she may have had for future generations, immediately noticing my ridiculous answer, I pulled the chute (left quickly)
“If you’ll excuse me….. I forgot to pick up eggs”