LIKE A TATTOO

I have a confession. For years I’ve been a notorious eavesdropper. I've listened to others' conversations while commuting to and from work on the metro, sitting in restaurants when there is lull in my own conversation, and now, when I sit at a coffee shop with my laptop.

Sometimes what I overhear is ordinary, everyday stuff—the kind of mundane greetings and introductions that would get cut from the first draft of a written scene in order to get to the action. Sometimes more is communicated by what is NOT said than what IS said. Occasionally, my imagination fills in a story around a few choice words I overhear. Sometimes I get a spark of an idea to create a quirky character or ideas about how I might capture a unique voice in dialogue.

But other times, like the one I’m about to share, what I hear really makes me feel out of touch with the younger generation. That is, in a hysterical kind of way.

On a recent family ski trip, my husband and I rode the chairlift with two college-aged guys. One had a scrape on his cheek.

The one with the cut said, “It’s really bothering me.”

His friend leaned in to get a better look. “You have to take care of it?”

“I’ll go get a band-aid or something.”

His friend grimaced. “No, dude. It looks infected.”

“What do I do for it, then?”

“You know, take care of it with Neosporin, like you do when you get a tattoo.”