The Unlikeliest of Places

Thursday afternoon at 4:40 I was holding up a plain white wall in a hair salon in New Brunswick. 

Before this happened and after this happened I was living a typical day.  I went to school and taught science.  I drove my red minivan home along the usual route.

Afterwards I ate dinner, walked the dog, fed my virtual frog, and watched last week's Apprentice. 

But in between ordinary and normal, I took a journey to "what am I doing here?"  It wasn't even unexpected.  I planned this sidetrip from my life.  I picked up Tara and her friend Gina.  We drove to New Brunswick, hunted for a parking spot while dodging Rutgers buses and students, walked two blocks and entered a hair salon called Sparks.  We were not getting hair cuts.  

Tara was there to get her belly button pierced.  Since she is under 18, she needed a parent present.  I had been hoping that parent would be BP, but he had another appointment that could easily have been scheduled any day of the year, but fatefully occured at the exact moment of Tara's belly button event.  I had been proclaiming for years that I wanted nothing to do with this piercing thing.  But there I was. 

I don't remember the name of the man in charge of poking holes in people.  Usually I don't remember people.  This guy I remember.  For lack of a proper name, I will call him Pierce, with absolutely NO connection or resemblance to Pierce Brosnan.  Pierce was a big tall red head with giantly guaged ears sporting black earrings at least an inch in diameter.  These things were apparent from the front, notable from the side, glaringly obvious from the back, and most likely viewable by astronauts on the space shuttle.  His right forearm was adorned with some sort of artwork.  His left forearm bore a solid black stripe which disappeared up his sleeve.  I can only assume that the stripe is the tail end of a more elaborate design on parts of his body that I will not ever have occasion to see.  But if I ever did end up passing this guy on a beach, I would know it was Pierce from New Brunswick.

Let me stop here to make it plain that I hate belly buttons.  They are the ugliest part of the human body.  I don't care how beautiful, well-toned, or fit you are.  I don't care if you are a supermodel.  You have an ugly belly button.  Period.  I will be averting my eyes. 

Stage One:  Pierce is swabbing Tara's belly button with brown antiseptic.  He is doing a thorough job.  Gina is watching.  I have briefly seen what he is doing and am now studying the desk in the corner of the room.

Stage Two:  Pierce draws a line and a dot on her navel and tells her to look in the mirror to check that it is straight.  She looks.  Gina looks.  They agree that the markings are straight.  I peek and hurriedly agree.  Then I examine the floor. 

Stage Three:  Tara lies down on the padded table.  Pierce tells her he is going to take some measurements.  She is to lie perfectly still and look at the ceiling.  Gina and I see Pierce use a silver ruler to take measurements.  Slightly queasy, I watch Gina watching the measuring in the mirror. 

Stage Four:  Pierce tells Tara something about forceps, a puncture, and taking a deep breath.  I am leaning into the wall, staring at white paint, concentrating on breathing, and trying not to listen.  At some point I glance at Tara.  There is some sort of equipment attached to her midsection.  Gina is making a joke about aliens coming out of her.  Pierce proclaims that if aliens come out he is booking.  I am back to studying the paint. 

Stage Five:  The task is done.  Gina asks, "Are you okay?"  Tara answers, "Yeah, I'm fine."  Gina says, "I was asking your mother."  I say, "I'm fine."  Pierce interjects, "If anyone cares, I'm fine too."  We all laugh.  Tara gets up and I let go of the wall. 

Tara pays and we leave the salon.  We are standing on the street and life returns to normal.