The boy had developed a cough yesterday and the wife asked me to scoot down to the drug store and pick up some cough syrup (does anyone still call it that?). Since it was almost halftime, and the Colts were up, I dawdled until the half and hit the streets.
Standing in the aisle with the cough and cold remedies were a couple of the town's typical citizenry: overweight, sporting long shorts that came to mid-shin and tattoos covering their arms.
I only heard a snippet of the conversation as I grabbed the medicine but it is worth repeating. White trash guy 1 was showing off his newest bit of ink to white trash guy 2.
WTG2: They keep telling me not to get anymore ink. My mother-in-law says I will never get a good job, it is not professional.
WTG1: I hear that bullshit all the time.
WTG2: Fuckin' A.
WTG1: I tell you what, if I am ever in a job interview and some fucker tells me I ain't professional, I will look that asshole right in the eye and say 'Fuck you, you son of a bitch. There ain't nothin' more professional than loving your kids and that's my kids all over my arms'.
WTG2: Hell yea, fuckin' A
Some days I wish I was a personnel officer at a factory.
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