Tucson, Arizona

NEHA, Day 2

8 am: After a hurried breakfast at the hotel (in which Didier spilled more of his food down the front of him than he ate) we arrived at the opening of the expo. Most other attendees were complaining about the early start time. I’m still on East Coast time; I was up at 4:30 am.

The second day was much less busy than opening night, but the people Didier and I spoke to at length were no less appreciative of our presence or the work that we do. We spoke to representatives from Arizona, New Mexico, Florida, Alaska, Georgia, New Jersey, Washington DC, Utah, Minnesota, Oregon, Washington, California, Hawaii, Idaho, Oklahoma, Louisiana, Arkansas, Massachusetts, Alabama, Indiana, Michigan, New York, Maryland, Ohio, Illinois, Nebraska, Colorado, Montana, British Colombia and Great Britain. (This may not be a complete list, but this is what Didier and I could remember by brainstorming in our hotel room.) Many of these people are directly responsible for either the inspection of body art establishments or the policies or legislation that governs and informs those inspections.

The most memorable thing I heard was from a woman from Montana, who talked about regulations and inspections in her state. She thanked us for our efforts—as an organization—and closed by saying, “We couldn’t have done it without your help.” I was almost knocked over by the power in her words.

The stated mission of the APP is to disseminate information about body piercing to piercers, health care professionals, legislators, and the general public. As piercers, we will most likely never all fly the same flag, and the crusade to educate the public is just at the beginning of a long and hard road. But health care professionals now know who we are and where to find us—my trips to the annual conferences of APHA (the American Public Health Association), ACHA (the American College Health Association), and ADHA (the American Dental Hygienists’ Association) have proven that to me. The reception that Didier and I received at NEHA showed that we have are succeeding with legislators as well. “We couldn’t have done it without your help” speaks volumes.

2 pm: The expo closes, and Didier and I pack up the booth and load the car. (The temperature gauge in the car says 116 degrees; we can’t tell if that means outside or inside the car.) We head to the Post Office to ship what few supplies we have left—along with the booth—to San Diego in preparation of the APHA conference the end of November, and then drive the hour to the airport for Didier to catch his flight. I don’t leave until tomorrow morning, so after dinner I head back to the hotel to finish my blog of the trip and prepare for an early bedtime. I will not be leaving the comfort of the room or the air conditioning again until I leave for the airport tomorrow morning—I have to return the rental car before 6 am, so I’ll be up at 4:30.

[This and the proceeding posts will be compiled into a future article for The Point: the Journal of the Association of Professional Piercers. Subscriptions are available for $10 a year and free PDF’s are available at safepiercing.org.]

Albuquerque to Tucson and NEHA, Day 1

6:30 am: As Crystal and I are driving to pick up the rental car we run out of gas. Completely. The car simply sputters and dies as we’re going down the road. It seems that Crystal has been hanging her ADHA badge on the steering column—over the fuel gauge—and she simply hadn’t noticed how little gas we had left. Luckily, the two-lane access road was deserted (it was early Sunday morning) and the car came to a stop at the curb about a quarter-mile from the rental car lot. While Crystal waited for her business partner/ex-husband to come with gas (we owe him a BIG favor), I hoofed it to the lot and picked up the car. Crystal joined me shortly, we transferred the booth and boxes to the rental and I was on the road a little after 7 am.

12 noon: I’ve been barreling through the desert for five hours. My only stop was a Denny’s in Truth or Consequences, New Mexico. My soundtrack so far has consisted of Hank Williams, the O’ Brother Where Art Thou soundtrack and Bob Dylan’s Blonde on Blonde and Highway 61 Revisited. Things are good—until I realize the fuel gauge is on “E.” Fuck—twice in one day. I hear Caitlin in my head: after I told her the drive would be an “adventure” she replied that it’s only fun until you run out of gas on the highway fifty miles from anywhere in the hot sun and they find you dead on the side of the road, your corpse picked over by vultures. (Actually, she didn’t mention the vultures, but they were certainly implied.)

The last sign I remember seeing was a “last rest stop for 78 miles” sign. How long ago was that? I’m going a steady 90 mph now and sweating, a little from the nervousness but more form the fact that I’ve turned of the air to conserve gas and it’s 105 degrees outside. And I have no cell phone reception out here.

I finally see a sign: “Wilcox - 10 miles.” Please let me make it. Please, please, please, please… I make it the 10 miles to the exit, and I see another sign: “Wilcox – 4 miles.” It seems it was 10 miles to the exit. Shit. I make it to what I assume is Main Street—Wilcox isn’t much more than a stop on the highway—and with great relief I roll into a gas station. Whew.

2 pm: I arrive at the Tucson airport as Didier plane from San Diego is landing. We have 3 hours to find the convention hotel and set up the booth.

3 pm: We find the convention hotel—it’s a huge Hilton “resort—and we find the hotel where we are registered. They were supposed to be close; they’re four miles apart. It’s now 110 degrees. We decide to hold onto the rental car.

4 pm: We arrive at the expo hall. The other exhibitors give us “the eye” as we set up. It’s the annual meeting of NEHA, the National Environmental Health Association, and full of health inspectors and others who deal with public health and policy. It’s our—the APP’s—first time here, and we’re not quite sure what to expect. They don’t know what to make of us either. We quickly set up the booth and the table and high-tail it out of there. We have to back for the expo opening and “party” at 6 pm, and we’re drenched in sweat. It’s 112 degrees outside.

6 pm: Dider and I open the doors and walk into the expo hall, and it’s like the scene out of Animal House—the one where they go to the bar in the “wrong” part of town: Conversation stops and all eyes are on us. (I imagine the silverware dropping and the needle going over the record.) It’s a long walk from the doors to the table.

We set ourselves up and wait. (We are right in front of the door; you can’t overlook us.) The attendees start to slowly trickle in, and then we are deluged with people. Everyone, it seems is working on legislation/policy/protocol in their state/county/city dealing with body piercing. We give away the majority of our material in two hours. They love The Point. They grab handfuls of the brochures. They take the CD manuals like they’ve been handed the scriptures. (Well, that may be a bit of an exaggeration, but they are incredibly appreciative.

I meet a health inspector from Florida who I’ve previously talked to only by phone. I talk to inspectors from Colorado and Albuquerque that have already worked with APP representatives on policy. I talk to people who have never heard of us but promise to contact us—and they will.

It was absolutely amazing, and this was only the first three hours.

9 pm: The expo closes, and Didier and I grab our things and head back to our hotel, as the floor opens again on Monday at 8 am. It is a little cooler outside—only 103 degrees.

ADHA Conference, Day 2

10 am: Crystal and I arrived just as the exposition hall opened on the second day.

From the several ADHA representatives that stopped by the booth we got information on attendance this year: There were approximately 1300 attendees this year—the highest figure they’ve ever had—with 300 of those being students—up from about 100 last year.

The response we received was amazing. It may have been the increase in attendance, the spike in the number of students, or the fact this was our second time exhibiting, but people were very enthusiastic about our presence there.

(It’s also worth noting that, with the huge booths from Colgate, Johnson and Johnson [makers of Listerine], Tom’s of Maine, etc and dozens of other manufacturers selling everything from medical instruments to office lighting, we were the only booth not selling anything—not anything besides information.)

The encouraging part of the day wasn’t talking to new people—to people that hadn’t heard of us—but to people who already had. Repeatedly people would come up and talk about how they had done a presentation on the topic of piercing for their school, for other students, at a local health conference, for the local health board; how they had been involved in education on some level and how invaluable our material was to them.

4 pm: Angela helped me break down the booth and pack up for the next leg of the trip—Tucson.

ADHA Conference, Day 1

6 am: I’m awake. My body still thinks it’s in Philadelphia—actually, I don’t think my body knows where the hell it is.

9 am: Crystal and I arrive—a little late—to the convention center. The expo is already overflowing with people as we make our way to the booth and hastily set up the APP material: brochures, including four new Spanish-language ones; posters; procedure manuals, both hard copy and disc; pens and stickers; and about ten different issues of The Point. (The back issues of The Point are always eye-catching, and make me very proud.) As we set up, we were swamped with people, asking questions, wanting information, thanking us for being there. I remembered: this is why I love these conferences.

10 am: The most interesting point in the day was in the early morning, around 10 am. As a representative from the ADHA introduced herself—thanking us for once again being there—there was a small gaggle of people slowly walking towards us, deferentially surrounding an old woman as she made her way down the aisle. As she came nearer, I was told—with a tone of reverence—that the woman making her way to us was the “Queen of the ADHA.” Before she could say more, the woman reached us and was ushered behind our table and into our booth space. Evidently the juxtaposition of a septuagenarian dental hygienist posing with the two tattooed and pierced exhibiters was a photo opportunity not to be missed.

She posed—flanked by Crystal and I—while our picture was taken. After the first set of photos, she looked behind her at the booth behind her to see where she was—not out of mental frailty, but as someone important enough that they were used to being shuttled from one photo opportunity to the next without having to concern herself with more than being diplomatic. We were motioned together for a second set of photos, and as my hand brushed against hers she grabbed it and held it tightly with the kind of clasp that can only come from someone older, someone who has no time for worrying about misunderstanding, who holds your hand as though there could be no other reason for that grip than pure warmth and understanding. I immediately knew why everyone held her in such regard, why she commanded such respect. After the pictures were taken, she turned to me and said, simply but earnestly, “I don’t like tongue piercings.” She said it in such a way that I didn’t hold it against her, as I knew she didn’t hold it against me.

She then slowly walked away, followed by her entourage, her court. This was my experience meeting Dr. Esther Wilkins.

1 pm: They had mariachis walking around after lunch.

PHL - ABQ

6 am, Philadelphia: My alarm goes off. My lover/ride-to-the-airport doesn’t even move. I have to get up now to make my 8:20 flight. I wonder why I agree to do these conferences.

8 am, Philadelphia International Airport (PHL): My flight is delayed one hour. Fuck.

11:15 am, Tucson International Airport (TUS): Since my first flight was delayed, my one-hour layover is now a fifteen-minute layover. I grab a disgusting chicken sandwich from the only food counter without a line, grab a bottle of water and run to my flight. I’m so hungry I’m angry, and I’m really wondering why I do these conferences.

2 pm, Albuquerque International Sunport (ABQ): I finally land. The chicken sandwich sits like a weight in my stomach; I managed to sleep very little on either of my flights; it feels wonderful to get off the plane. Crystal’s employee, Angela, picks me up curbside. In her silver Honda Civic she has the huge box with the booth and a second large second box with the art for the booth filling the back seat, pushing our seats forward. The trunk is full with nine boxes with brochures, posters, magazines, pens, stickers, and everything else needed to set up the APP booth. We have three hours to get to the convention center and set up everything for the exposition at the American Dental Hygienist’s Association (ADHA) conference, which starts tomorrow.

It’s hot as hell. It was light jacket weather when I left Philadelphia. It’s in the mid-nineties here, now. Angela and I drive around and finally find where to unload. The boxes, while not too unwieldy in moderate weather are unbearably heavy in the heat. I wait on the sidewalk in the hot sun with the boxes while Angela parks the car.

The booth set-up is easy; I’ve done it often enough, and air conditioning makes anything easier. We escape by about 4 pm. We head to Evolution where Crystal warmly greets me in the parking lot in back; I feel a lot better. We head to her house—it is very red—and then go out to eat. She goes out, and I stay at her apartment to check my email; I’m soon asleep on her sofa.

Chicago, Illinois