"Come and let me show you my tattoo" - Gregg Allman

We were at BJ's, that cavernous warehouse that allows members to purchase both a ton and a half of corn flakes and a wheelbarrow to cart it away.  We bought peanut butter, paper towels, napkins, tp, some supplies for mom, and enough shredded parmesan cheese to sink a lasagna and headed for the checkout.

The cashier was a friendly young lady, wearing a pair of those calf-length pants that in my distant youth were called "clam diggers," but I don't think that's where she was headed after work.  She had an Ace® Bandage wrapped all the way around her calf, so I said I was sorry she had gotten hurt and that I hoped she felt better soon.

"Oh. I didn't get hurt," she said. "The store makes me wear this because I have a large tattoo on my leg."

Popular with sailors

Charley Horse

Now I'm confused.  It would appear that in the world of big-box club merchandising, the very thought of employees being seen to be bearing tattooed skin is so abhorrent that they would rather have their customers think the employee has a pulled muscle or Charley Horse or something.

This is Alllman, brother

Listen, I remember the old days, when only a sailor who had been shanghaied in Hong Kong (or Hong Konged in Shanghai, I can never remember which is which) would sport tattoos, which were indigo pictures of nekkid girls with name banners or reddish pictures of hearts abloom, bearing legends such as "Marge and Nick forever."  From Asheville to Ashtabula, people are inking it up all over the place, and it's ok with me if a cashier has a tattoo. I mean, if the man pictured here, Gregory LeNoir "Gregg" Allman, wants to sing "Whipping Post" for you, are you going to tell him you'd rather someone untattooed did the vocal?

Just for the record, BJ's management, as long as the person running the cash register where I buy things is polite and professional and decently groomed (clean and non-stanky), then I could not care any less if they have decorated their leg or forearm with artworks.