I got the hose first and then figured out how they had detoured the buses to Turnhout at the depot. They had detoured them in the most complicated way possible, provided you took them on a Thursday (market day). Luckily, the bus driver was nice enough to open the doors again for me, and I had bought my ticket with my phone.
Really, I'm delighted with the system. You send a text message on how long you want to be on the bus (1 hour or 2) and get one back saying your payment was received, which counts as a ticket. The prices are cheaper than buying it on the bus itself and only slightly more expensive than figuring out where you can buy bus tickets in advance. For people like me who take the bus once in a blue moon, it's a wonderful solution. All you have to know is how long you'll be on the bus, which it says on the bus stop pole thingy.
I was on the bus for seventy-four minutes, according to the pole. My watch agreed, more or less, and taunted me with the fact that I was about half an hour early for Pirate Piercing to open. Poo.
I'd put on heels, so I had slowed myself down, and I wasn't exactly sure which way to go, either. Oh, and there was a vending machine selling drinks and a bench in the sunshine on the way there, so I killed a few minutes with that, too.
It didn't change the fact that I was ten to fifteen minutes early. I looked at the display cases in the store window (tiny window, small display), I checked if the door was really, really closed (it was) and in the end just waited like some kind of depraved junkie at the door.
The apprentice piercer eventually opened. Would I like to come in? Would I, ever!
The piercers weren't in yet (I suspect because the universe likes to deny me instant gratification at times), but I could look around (oooooh, pretty!) and fill out the forms already. Which color jewelry would I like? What was I allergic to? Okay, no problem, we can work with this. Male or female piercer? I said it didn't matter. Could he watch the process for learning purposes? Of course, no problem.
The piercer was still not in.
I asked if they had some black spirals for my stretched ears. Of course they had those. Ten euros later, I had them. I decided it would be poor form to put them in immediately, and I had bought them not because I'm tired of my glass tunnels (I love my glass tunnels) but because aquatic blue holes in your ears are generally frowned upon by elder members of the clergy, and I had two church services to attend in the following two days. If I wear them backwards, they look like exotic ear hoops at first glance. If the priest noticed, I could tell him staring was rude.
The piercer, Lucas, arrived. He had more piercings in his face than I had in my entire body and his stretches trumped mine by at least 44 mm. He was the nicest piercer I'd ever had. He was also the first to ask me if I liked the placement of the dots that said where the piercings would go. I liked very much.
Let me say this. Getting your nipples pierced is a bitch. Not so much as getting your septum pierced at a large gauge, but definitely more unpleasant than, say, a belly button piercing. Nevertheless, the result was gorgeous and I was happy.
I got aftercare product and a leaflet with instructions, plus a few more leaflets on things I might be interested in doing the following weeks. I paid and said thank-you and rushed to catch my bus.
I missed the bus, because coming home in under five hours for getting some panty hose in a store less than twenty minutes away by bike would be too inconspicuous to happen. I decided not to let it bother me and went to get a snack. I admit to peeking at my chest in the mirror of an abandoned bathroom. It was still everything I'd imagined, except my nipples wouldn't relax. Was I stuck with pointy nipples for the rest of my life? Anyway, better catch that second bus.
Another thing. Bus suspension on public transport sucks. I don't know if the driving philosophies of bus drivers everywhere kill it within weeks or if people who design buses install it only as an exclusive optional extra. I'd been brained on a bus in Norway and thrown to the floor a few times in Belgium. I felt every bump on the way home, more specifically in my chest area. Anyone who's been on Belgian roads know how well they're kept in shape. It was like riding a jackhammer for over an hour.
My bike ride home was a lovely diversion. My ten-year-old city bike was designed with extreme cobblestone riding in mind. I have to go pretty crazy before I notice I'm driving over something uncomfortable. The thing cost less than 250 euros when new, too. I'll be sad to leave it.
Once I got home, dad asked where I'd been so long. I debated very briefly between telling the truth and facing the music or evading the question and putting off the inevitable. I said 'here and there, y'know' and went upstairs.
There was a blood stain in my bra. I'd hoped to avoid it, but I hadn't. Luckily, I've been bleeding from various cuts and scrapes since early childhood. I know how to get out fresh blood, and the bra needed washing anyway. I taped off the piercings, checked a few websites, and took a nap.
The piercings have behaved wonderfully since then. No more bleeding, bearable afterpain, they even relaxed sometime during the night. At the moment, they're still sensitive, but I'd be sensitive too if I'd been clamped down and cut through. I love how they look. I love how they sparkle. I love the fact that they're all mine and I don't have to share it with anyone I don't want to.
I feel awesome.
Disclaimer: At the time of writing, I recommend Pirate Piercing in Turnhout for your modification needs in Belgium. They're helpful, clean and correct in their conduct. They have an excellent selection in jewelry and their tattoo artists deliver nice pieces. I'm not being paid or bribed to write this, it's just my conclusion.
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