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.
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