Think Before you Ink

I was eighteen the night of the fateful party when a few friends decided a sewing machine needle and India ink a tattoo artist doth make. As they artfully carved lopsided Coors logos, and the naked ladies most oft seen on truckers mudflaps on their arms, I watched with no small amount of amusement.

By the time they were done, I decided why not... what can one little tattoo hurt? Indeed.

Being the individualist that I am, I opted for a classy heart on my right hip. It went something like, poke, poke, poke, STAB, poke, poke, poke, STAB.

What I saw when I looked in the mirror the next morning was something like a sideways letter B. Thankfully the ink didn't hold very well, and it faded to a dotted, faded, ummm... thing. (If you look closely you can still see the beginnings in the pic at the top of the page.)

Amazingly I did not take any pictures of the mess that was, so I managed to find some similar quality work courtesy of Badtattoos.com, only in this case theirs was better.

I was a much wiser nineteen years of age when I decided I had learned my lesson, and I would have it fixed by a professional.

Word to the wise, a sign on a storefront doesn't exactly mean professional. That being said, I now freely admit that I learned this lesson the hard way.

Mike assured me that he was a professional, he had no naked flesh visible on his body as testament to this fact. I knew jack-$&!# about tattoos, so he passed.

I once again chose a heart *sighs* this time with a rose flanking it, the rose was draped in spider webs.

Mike begins the tattoo, and only after my pants are dropped and I am laying on the table do I find out that Mike is also a ladies man. Mike you see has a special offer for young girls who come into his shop alone, if you go into the back room with him, the tattoo is free.

I assure Mike that I'll just pay the $20 for the outline as quoted and all will be well.

It was a good thing too, because partway through the tattoo Mike's old lady stops in, and she is even bigger than he is, and he is one big boy.

She also apparently has issues with him tattooing young girls with their pants down, a fit is thrown and Mike's "assistant" finishes the tattoo while Mike goes outside to calm his old lady down.

The rest of the tattoo was rather uneventful, he slaps a paper towel on it and tapes it in place.

Care instructions? Nope, no need for that.

By then Mike is back and he is showing me other flash sheets he thinks I might like when the room starts spinning. I hit the concrete floor full on, and come too while Mike and his assistant are carrying me to the sofa.

They give me some water, and tell me I will be fine.

As the weeks turn into months I meet many people who know Mike, apparently his back room is legend among the tattoo savvy community. I spend the next few years insisting that I was in fact a paying customer, and no I did not see what he had tattooed on his nether regions, though I hear tales quite often.

The next time I drive by, Mike is no longer in business, apparently another run in with the law has placed him in the care of the State.

Even worse, is the look people get when they see the tattoo.

I get stranger looks than that tattooed lady in freak shows of old. Since I can't really see it, I didn't really catch on. It takes a few times before someone actually tells me WHY they are looking at me strangely.

First of all, it seems that Mikes assistant decided to finish my outline with a shading needle, hence the fat lines. He also outlined each rose petal individually, leaving large gaps in between them. In some places the spider web is missing altogether, in others it is as thick as magic marker.

Once again, Badtattoos.com didn't have anything even close, but you get the idea...

Flash forward over ten years later to the Christmas I buy my husband a tattoo machine of his own. You see where this is going don't you?

Well, I volunteer to be his first victim, er, client.

We will leave out the fact that he was a little drunk at the time.

Well, late one night he breaks it out and says he knows what he is doing. Well, I'm not so sure. It sure didn't hurt like THAT the first time. The needle seems to be going in a bit too deep, I finally have to make him stop.

A few months later, my husband is in a reputable shop getting a large tat done on his back, this shop is also a school.

The apprentice who did his outline did a good job on it, though it did take a very long time. Well, the owner starts talking to me about my tat, and asks to take a look at it.

*Cue horrified gasp...*

She tells me that they have a new apprentice starting, and he will do the cover-up for free.

He does have experience, he is just new to her shop and has to do a certain number of tattoos before he can start charging. She shows me his work, and it is very professional so I say why not.

They decide that the rose has to go, there is no saving it.

They decide to place a spider over it, and I love the design. One they get it on, it looks fairly decent. The spider web isn't too hard to fix up with some shading, there is only one problem. That is what my husband tried to fix, so the scar tissue there is pretty thick.

Then!

The guy gets partway done and says, "I'll be back, I need to run to the store to get some smokes." He is gone for about 30 minutes, then comes back and works some more.

Wait, now the new commercial for the shop has come in and they want to see how it looks. Another half hour.

After several more breaks I am in a lot of pain from the position he has me in, I can't sit in one position for very long without getting stiff and he has me just leaning over the table. Add on the fact that my endorphins keep wearing off while he in on his many breaks, he is working through massive scar tissue, and we decide to schedule for a later date.

He quit and the shop shut down.

So here you have the current version of my tattooed mess, yes, that's the real deal. I have a spider, and a lot of rose leaves with no actual rose.

The stem curves around the left side of the heart in some strange twisted fashion, and the heart?

Ughhh...

The only good thing I can say about it is that is is only visible when my shirt rides up in the back, most of the time it is fully covered.

I have talked to several artists with great reputations, who say they won't touch the damn thing. Nobody wants their name associated with this hideous mess. A full cover-up is the only option, but the scar tissue and previous pain is just too much.

I give up.

My husband is now training to become a tattoo artist, and maybe someday I might perhaps think about letting him discuss taking another shot at it, but I dunno...

So please, please, please... THINK before you INK!