Ug. Just saw one of those “click if you remember” pictures with a jar of Mercurochrome. Sure, it’s been a loooong time, but every time I see a picture of that I’m reminded of the lie we were so often told that the body doesn’t “remember” pain.
“It will only hurt for a second”, they said.
Yeah, not but those aren’t EARTH seconds!
And if you scrub hard enough to remove the decades since it was banned, you’ll likely find orange tissues underneath, still dyed from that crap.
It reminds me of one of the times I had lost my fluency in Spanish.
We were in Mexico, during my college years, when my stunning ability at proving not all bipeds are blessed with the same level of balance and coordination let itself be known, and I took a header off a moped, getting a lovely “Cancun Souvenir” of road rash.
I was sitting in the nearest hotel lobby resting, because my brother who was with me at the time was still a little discombobulated by the incident, needed to have me in a braced cushioned chair while he processed the whole situation.
It wasn’t the actual accident that sent him for a loop. No, accidents happen. He couldn’t fathom my reaction to it. The accident was a stupid bad driving experience as I got the tire of the damn thing in a rut and flew off when it popped out. It was AFTER that, after I was on the side sitting down and he was next to me, that I passed out.
That kinda sorta somewhat freaked him out a little bit.
(As a side note, as I explained to him, I do that. Much like a tension headache, when the moment of danger and stress pass, the body relaxes and continues on it’s natural course prior to being paused to address the situation at hand. Some say it’s similar to the fight or flight instinct, I call it the weep or sleep instinct. After finally being assured that I hadn’t banged my head without realizing it … on cobblestone … causing me to pass out from a concussion, he brought me inside to put me in a soft cushy spot while he went to find a straight jacket, but only after suggesting I never try scuba diving.)
As I was sitting in this lobby, one of the hotel workers came over to the bloody scraped up mess of a college girl with pink hair and massive sunburn (I was such a looker back then!) to see if I needed some assistance. So adorable that he thought to ask first. As clearly there was a risk of my bleeding on to his hotel’s pristine chair cushions, he had brought some medical supplies with him, and offered to help clean up the wounds.
Out popped the bottle of little orange hell. Despite being more than a decade removed from the last time I was approached with it, the all too real physical memory overcame me and the fear of blistering pain sent me leaping from the chair backwards, almost into a cement pillar and banging into a coffee table, while native-level Spanish spewed from my mouth.
Yeah, I remember it. But don’t want to risk clicking the like button, because that shit’s just not right.