I spend quite a bit of my time as Pope of the All John All The Time World Church answering questions from my followers, some deeply serious, some frivolous. What is God's plan for mankind? Why does a merciful, compassionate God allow such horrors as hunger, violence, disease, hatred and poverty to exist? Is there a proper way to worship God, and what is it? Is the Bible the ultimate moral authority? Why is the word l-i-m-a pronounced LIE-ma when it's a bean and LEE-ma when it's a city in Peru? And the most challenging question of all, well into their second CENTURY of futility, will the Chicago Cubs EVER win another World Series?
I take great pains to provide my followers with concise, cogent answers to these enquiries, as best I am able, although the LIE-ma/LEE-ma thing has me stumped. But the question I have the most difficulty answering is one that has perplexed mankind since that fateful day we crawled out of the primordial swamp, stood for the first time, looked around at our new surroundings and asked, "What effect will it have on me if I get my ears pierced?"
I personally faced this dilemma several years ago when, on a sunny spring afternoon, along with my good friend Ron, I visited a head-shop/tattoo/ear-pierce parlor located in one of the bucolic suburbs of Chicago. Ron was interested in purchasing a water-pipe, I assume for the smoking of exotic brands of tobacco, and I was along for the ride, as an observer. (Just as an observer, certainly never as a "water-piper".) Please note as a frame of reference, this was back in the 90's, when things were just a little different than today; a middle-aged guy having an ear pierced then was still a little "out-there", if you get my drift. And this was Chicago, not LA (pronounced LAH, as in doe-ray-me-fah-so-LA-tee-doe a deer, a female deer, ray, a drop of golden sun, etc.).
The establishment in question, the Satan Is Supreme Tattoo Parlor and Recreational Dungeon, is, I would assume, having little experience in these matters, fairly typical of the genre; pictures of all sorts of tattoos covered the walls, some beautiful, some grotesque, with a number of glass display cases positioned about the sales floor, exhibiting all manner of products, most of which were related to the smoking and enjoyment of various tobacco products. In the rear, behind closed doors, were the various rooms that were reserved for the application of tattoos and the piercing of ears, and there was the obligatory cash register just inside the entrance.
In one of the display cases near the register there were a number of trays containing items not related to tattoos or the consumption of smoking materials: all sorts of earrings, silver, gold, various other minerals, some tacky, some delicately exquisite, all for persons with pierced ears, and, as I learned subsequently, other pierced body parts as well.
A young lady, who worked in the shop, and was the possessor of the most amazing blue hair, pierced ears, lips, eyebrows, nose, tongue and other parts I preferred not to know about, approached Ron and I and asked if she could provide us with some assistance. Ron answered that he was looking for a new pipe, and she directed him to the proper case. While she helped Ronny look over their selection, I was checking out the earrings on display, and thinking to myself, I wonder...?
The saleslady, leaving my friend for a moment, came over to where I was and asked if I would like to purchase an earring(s) and have my ear(s) pierced. I chuckled at the notion, but said that, while I had considered, on several occasions, having an ear(s) pierced, I had done nothing about it, being a middle-aged white guy from the suburbs. (To understand where I'm going with all this, you need to know something: I had to get hearing aids for both my ears when I was in my mid-40's, several years prior to this incident. While the loss of my hearing was certainly traumatic, it could have been worse; I could have gotten married again.)
And then, faithful followers of the AJATTWC and your favorite Popearama, the fateful words blurted from my mouth, to ever seal my destiny; "I don't know, I'm a little afraid to have my ears pierced, because, you know, it might somehow mess up my hearing aids", and in that moment of truth, a painful realization struck me, with great force and clarity:
You know you're REALLY (REALLY) getting old when you're afraid to have your ears pierced for fear it will somehow interfere up your hearing aids.
The irony was almost too painful to bear.
Love and wheelchairs,
PJTT
copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.
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