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In an earlier post (http://daveka.com/green-socks), I was accused of sleeping on the job in an area I was never in by a site manager. When I denied it, the site manager yelled, “My lead man caught you. Are you calling my lead man a liar?” At which point I quit (They were hell bent on kicking my ass). But before I left Lima, my buddy Bobby Beasley and I needed to get tattooed.
We drove by a storefront on the edge town that had a flickering “Tattoo” neon sign in the window. We looked at each other and said simultaneously said, “Wanna get one?” So, we stopped and got out of the car laughing our asses off.
When we got to the door, I tried to pull it open, but it was looked. The store hours open sign said it should be open, so I cupped my eyes with my hands and leaned on the glass to get a better view. I was 19 and committed on getting a tat so I was a lot disappointed when I didn’t see anybody inside at first.
The lights were on inside the front of the place which was really small. I looked to the back of the store and saw a guy lying on a couch in the dark in front of a flickering TV. The tattoo shop was the first couple rooms of an apartment! Creepy!
I looked at Beasly, shrugged my shoulders and knocked on the door. The guy on the couch didn’t move. I knocked again, saw the guy on the couch stir, sit up, look up at me and said, “Shit…” He was annoyed we were there!
He got off the couch, walked to the front door, unlocked & opened it, and said “Wadaya want…”
“We wanna get tattoos.” I said.
“I guess. You can pick one off the wall – or (sigh), do you have something in mind?” I could smell stale booze on his breath as he spoke.
“I’ll pick one off the wall.” I said.
Bobby and I walked in and started looking around. The front room had tattoos on the walls up to the ceiling and a bunch of notebooks loaded with illustrations. The second room was where the tats were applied. The tattoo machine looked like an old time punch card device with a needle at the end of a three foot cable. Truly old school. Not to mention a .45 caliber handgun lying on top of it. Beyond that room was a hallway that went down to the living area where the flickering TV was.
After about five minutes, I found the one I wanted. “Dude, how much will this one cost? I want it on my shoulder!”
“Have you gotten a tattoo before? You couldn’t handle that in one shot and would probably pass out if we tried. You’d need to come back at least twice.” I was pointing at a werewolf that was about a square foot in size.
I ended up picking a wolf head that was about the size of a quarter, but Bobby went all out. “How big of one can I get?” he asked.
“The size of a deck of cards.”
Bobby settled on the Warner Brother’s Tasmanian Devil. That was about 3 inches tall. A manly choice indeed!
I went first. I was a little concerned by the tremor in the hand of the tattooist’s hand and the smell of stale booze on his breath, but what the hell; I’m only going to do this once! I think Bobby was second because he was trying to get enough guts together.
Mine was done in about 15 or 20 minutes, it hurt like hell and it was bleeding profusely. I had to keep a wad of TP on while I waited for Bobby to get his done. The damn thing bled to the whole time.
About an hour of Bobby’s gritting teeth and yelps went by until Bobby’s was done. When the tattooist took the hand away that was steadying and keeping the flesh of his arm taught, the whole middle of TAZ sprang toward the right – like it was doing a hula dance! During the whole time he drew and colored the tat, his thumb was pinching his flesh where-by misshaping the tattoo when he removed his thumb!
Bobby just said, “Oh, well”.
We paid the man ($30 for mine and $110 for Bobby’s), got into the beat to shit Datsun, and drove to Bobby’s girlfriends in Pascagoula, Mississippi.
I'm hooked on etymology, folklore, writing, live music, and making movies. I jam the axe and I'm currently learning how to beat the skins. I write cool software and meaningful screenplays.
I like to drive fast with the top down in the rain with the music cranked.
My tastes in TV, music, film, and literature are broad but obscure. I keep a journal, write screenplays, compose music, take many pictures, and create software.
When camping at night, you can find me staring into the campfire either playing the guitar or telling a spooky story under the moonlight. I love thunder storms, Friday is my favorite day and my favorite number is 9. 
