Piercings have never been my jam. Do they bother me? Never have. Never will. Even though I’ve seen my fair share of piercings that not only look like they were painful to get, but they are obviously infected! I’m trying to figure out what kind of person lets an infection get bad enough that the skin turns bright red, there is obvious puss leaking from it, and yet they stand there acting like it’s not that big of a deal.

To be fair, I’ve only met one person in my life who had a TON of visible piercings, all of which, I will say, were well cared for. Did said person whistle when walking without any of their piercings? I was told anecdotally, yes.

Walmart used to be a small-scale version of the community of our small Iowa town. I say it used to be because today, the people of Walmart match those working there, so it’s difficult to say what came first – the Walmart employee or shopper.

Miguel had more than thirty piercings and was a stick figure of a man, with the flamboyant mannerisms of a man who wanted desperately to be a woman. Or at least to act like one. One of my more gossipy Walmart cashiers confided that Miguel was a drag queen at the local gay club, Nayman’s Circus. No one knew his stage name, nor were there any before or after pictures to identify him as the queen, also known as Cassandra Strathman. According to other cashiers who had seen the show, Cassie was a royal pain, a complete wench. I was trying to figure out why anyone in Boone would see the show. Then again, I was working at Walmart, so there is no accounting for taste, at least not in Boone.

“Miguel,” I asked, lighting a Camel light in the breakroom of the Walmart Supercenter. The smoking area was an enclosed booth with two six-foot rectangle tables, four ashtrays on each table, and a total of sixteen chairs spread out around each table. There was one window and one door. The smoke inside the room was dense when all the chairs were being used, and everyone had a lit cigarette. “I heard you are a performer at Nayman’s.”

Miguel’s face reddened. “Who said that?” He batted his eyes at me, doing his best to flirt. He knew I was into women because my girlfriend picked me up from work every night. Most nights, Miguel was outside smoking, choosing to be out of the building instead of inside the booth. Not that I blamed him. The smoking room made you stink like you had been out at the bar all night. And that was after fifteen minutes inside! The running joke at Walmart was if you were looking inside the booth you could observe smokers in their natural habitat. It got old after a few months.

“Hey, you know how these cashiers talk,” I said, shrugging my shoulders and pointing to my red vest, a badge of honor among those brave enough to wear it. The customer service manager, or CSM, was the supervisor of the cashiers, the keeper of all the keys, and the only one who could send you to break or lunch. And it took me a little over ninety days to get it. That’s a story for another day. “I don’t really remember, to be honest. Not that it matters to me. I was curious. If anyone told me, it’d be you; you’ve never lied to me.”

“Nor am I going to, honey,” he stabbed his 100-length Camel light out in the nearest ashtray. He lit another one. “Yes. I’ve been known to perform on occasion. But it’s been a while.” He pointed at me with the smoke, elbows on the table, wrists bent at a ninety-degree angle. “That’s why I wanted to know who blabbed. I don’t talk about the show or her.” He rolled his eyes. “She’s a witch anyways.”

“So it’s true then.” I stood up, crushing my half-smoked Camel. Most of the Walmart people smoked Camels. At least this month. They were on sale everywhere, which would change next month. Most of us will start smoking in Marlboros next month.

“I guess,” Miguel said, rolling his eyes. “You could always come down and see the show,” he said, leaning over the table as demurely as possible with the Walmart blue vest hanging off his bony shoulders. “You’d have a perfect time.” He cackled, laughing hard, smoke billowing from his nose and mouth. “I’d see to it personally.” I laughed at him. He shouted at me before I could open the door, “You could bring your girl with you. She’d LOVE my alternative ego!”

I winked at him, still wondering about those piercings and how he didn’t get tangled up in his sheets, caught by one of the thirty-something piercings.