Tatt's All Folks!

My husband, Bruce, and I were invited to a friends house for a barbecue this past weekend. It was a small informal get together, but still I wanted to look my best, so I slipped into a nice pair of jeans and a T-shirt. To complement my sporting outfit I chose one of my favorite pairs of earrings.

Although my ears were pierced more than 20 years ago, I've always had problems with my left ear. The cosmetologist who did the work must have been having a bad day because the back side of the hole in that ear doesn't match with the front side. Putting an earring in it is next to impossible. I always end up in a rather unique contorted wrestling match with myself. In the end, without fail, I always have to ask Bruce for help.

Bruce doesn't mind helping, but he's always afraid he will hurt me, so the procedure takes longer than it should and wears on both of us. My ear was particularly resistant that day, so after struggling with me and the earring for about 20 minutes, Bruce decided we should maybe try to reopen and align the hole with a darning needle.


Bruce was about to start his armchair surgery, when a couple of friends that we had made arrangements to go the barbecue with arrived. Seeing my dilemma they did what any good friends would do...they joined Bruce and alternately took turns poking, prodding, pulling and pushing a very large needle though my ear.

In the end, we managed to open the hole and insert the earring, but I arrived at the party with a very large, unsightly, red and swollen left earlobe .

After we had eaten Diane, one of our friends, abruptly stood, grabbed my arm and announced that she and I were leaving for a little while in my vehicle because we "had an errand to run." I didn't know where we were headed until she directed me to pull into the parking lot of one of our local "Bottle Shops" that sold beer, wine and liqueur.

I couldn't imagine why we were there since neither of us drink . When I asked what we were up to she grinned and said "Get out..you'll see"

As soon as my feet hit the ground she grasped my upper arm firmly and said "Come on, we're going up there" I followed her hand gesture toward a fairly steep set of stairs that led above the Bottle Shop to one of our many local Tattoo parlors.

Now, state of California pays ex-felons for their rehabilitation when they are released from prison. I honestly can't say how many vocational choices they are given, but from the number of shops in the area I'm guessing maybe there are only two. Harley motorcycle repair shops and Tattoo Shops.

Interestingly enough you can always tell the shop owners and employees by the way they dress. The Harley shop owners and employees regardless of the season always dress in black leathers and have an obsessive fondness for silver. Silver earrings, silver chains, silver belt buckles, silver everything. They glisten in the warm California sun.

Tattoo parlor owners and employees dress in as few articles of clothing as possible and have an obsessive fondness for displaying their wearable artwork. They are covered from head to toe in brilliant graphics. They too glisten in the warm California sun as it reflects off their numerous body piercings.

When I questioned Diane's motives she smiled coyly and said "Come on..you'll see." Although I was slightly apprehensive I concluded that she wanted to get tiny tattoo on her left ankle to match the one on her right. Diane is impulsive but at the same time very conservative.

As I followed her up the stairs we passed a multitude of young people leaving the shop. As they passed they each in turn showed us their new works of art. One girl stuck out her tongue and said something like " oook I jus gop ma tun possed " I smiled and said "Ahh, very nice. Congratulations!" I wondered why anyone would want to do such a thing. I'm not judgmental, just a coward. It looked like it hurt.

As Diane opened the door to the Tattoo parlor we were nearly knocked down by the ear shattering rap music that engulfed us along with a billowing cloud of incense. I gave her a look that I hope implied "Girl are you out of your mind?" I concluded she was when she slipped behind me and shoved me though the door.

From somewhere behind a beaded curtain a deep baritone voice bellowed "Park your butts Dudes I'm inkin' " Diane plopped comfortably into one of the two vacant chairs that somewhat resembled barber chairs and motioned for me to take the other, "Aww come on" she pleaded "lighten up, relax this is all good." It didn't feel or look good to me, but I slipped onto the edge of the chair.

In a couple of minutes a burly bald man whom I guessed to be 8 feet 94 inches tall tossed back the beaded curtain spread his arms and said "'Sup Dudes ? Look at you!" I assume he was surprised to see two over the hill ladies sitting in his victims chairs. "Aaaah right" he continued "who am I inkin' first?"

To my absolute horror Diane leaped from her chair and shoved me all the way back info mine and said "We are going to re-pierce her ears!" The chair must have had suction cups attached to it because before I could pull my self up and out of it, the moving art show pressed one of his big hands gently but firmly just below my throat and looked at first one ear and the other. My heart raced in terror.

I must have passed out from fright at that point, because the next thing I remember Diane was leading me back down the steep stairs. I had a serious headache and both of my ears felt like someone had taken a blowtorch to them. The throbbing pain caused tears to truckle down my cheeks.

As we drove out of the parking lot I glanced longingly back at the "Bottle Shop." I secretly wished I could imbibe just a little . Diane is a good friend, and neither of us drink, but at that very moment I considered dumping a friend and taking up drinking as a new hobby.