I was at Fry's on Thursday to fill a prescription for my strep throat. I ended up walking there with Miriam in the stroller since Jeremy had the car at a soccer game he was refereeing. Note to self: never walk to the store when you have strep throat. Especially not when Tucson is experiencing near-record cold temperatures.
We had to wait in the pharmacy waiting area for quite a while. When I first showed up, there were three women already seated, chatting with each other. I could tell they were not previously acquainted, but I couldn't quite figure out the subject of their conversation. One woman was talking about lotion and needles and rashes and all kinds of weird stuff. Finally, she lifted up her pantleg to reveal a large tattoo on her calf. She pointed at various parts of it as she continued her tale and I realized that they were conversing about tattoos.
The conversation continued for a while and during the course of it, all three women lifted up their pant legs and showed off their tattoos. One of the women had extensive tattooing all over her leg as far as the eye could decently see. They were all quite animated on the subject. The only thing I could add was during the part where they were talking about a product called Aquaphor. The first woman mentioned that she put Aquaphor on her infected tattoo (eww!) and that it's the same stuff you can use on babies' bums. They all looked at me, since I had Miriam right there with me, and I was able to confirm that yes, in fact, Aquaphor is used on babies' bums. That was where my tattoo-related expertise came to an end.
Their prescriptions came up and one by one, they left the waiting area. But more interesting people showed up to take their places, including an extremely large, obese man wearing a long, black, leather raincoat and Coke-bottle eyeglasses. There was also an extremely nervous young man on who spoke loudly on a cell phone almost the whole time he was there. From what I could hear of his conversation, he was talking with the police and wanted to be removed from his home. He was wondering if a policeman could pick him up, take him to his house, gather his things, and then take him...somewhere.
After a truly bizarre 45 minutes spent in the waiting room, Jeremy came to pick us up on the way home from refereeing. So at least I didn't have to walk home in the cold.