(no subject)
Next time a friend scrapes your car up on a 4 am trip to the ER,
Mike the Tattooist in action.
Can you tell I'm not happy so much as woozy?
If anyone tries to tell you that tattoos don't hurt, they're lying out their fucking ass.
Almost done...
You can only guess at what the fellow bar patrons thought of me walking in, arm held aloft.
The story of how long it took to actually get the thing is quite amusing. Let's start with day one
We went into Pain and Wonder around 9 pm on Friday. I assumed that their hours would be similar to what I was used to in Gainesville, but they close at midnight and were therefore unable to take me that night. I was talking to a cool mohawked guy wearing a TMBG shirt (who loved my back tat). Then this bitchy thin girl with full sleeves and evil ram horn-sized curly plastic in her ear lobes asks what I wanted to have done. I pull out a sheet of paper with FOUR DIFFERENT SIZES of the text I want and a sample of his signature.
Bitchlor: There's no way I can do it in that size. It needs to be way bigger.
Me: Oh. Well... that's why I brought all these sizes. Also, can't we just use that copier right there to -
Bitchlor: I can't do it until you have it ALL WORKED OUT! Come back later.
So I try to return on Monday at 5, thinking I'm quite early. I walk in and she's the only one behind the desk.
Me: Hi, I was here before, do you have time today to -
Bitchlor: Weekdays are appointment only! Come back on Friday when we take [voice now drips with derision] walk-ins.
Me: ...Then can I make an appointment?
Bitchlor: NO!
So you can imagine how pleased I am on Friday when I've amiably chatted to the two guys behind the counter, my tat has been stencilized by Mike (in the ORIGINAL largest size from the sheet I had with the signature I had using - DUN DUN DUN - the copier), and the younger one remarks, "Okay, I'll just go show it to her."
My stomach drops, but I think that since they've clearly created a workable stencil, we'll be alright.
The younger of the two guys goes outside to ask her what she thinks (I assume she's smoking somewhere, as opposed to random flicking lit cigarettes at innocent passers-by, which is what I pictured). She comes storming in the door with him trailing behind. She breezes right past me - though I'm standing directly in front of the desk - and starts bitching to the guy about how the size is wrong and the font is too hard and how she couldn't do it.
She storms off to do something in the back, like shove the stick a little bit further up her ass.
Me: Um. Can I get someone to do my tattoo who... isn't a total bitch?
Young guy: Yeeeeeeah. Lemme go ask Mike.
Long story short, Mike does my tattoo, and as we are leaving, we pass Bitchlor and the manager outside arguing. spinemasher overheard the following:
Manager: It isn't bad enough that you're rude to the customers, but your work isn't even that good!
Bitchlor: [tearfully] Now you're just going to make me cry.
Karma, sweet karma - no appointment necessary!