Saturday, February 11, 2006

Club No Tattoo for You

You know something... I am quick to point out the all too funny flubs and fuck-ups others make, so let me tell you about what happened to me yesterday.
A week ago, I made an appointment to get touch up work done on the stars I recently had added to my tattoo collection. Sammy was the name I scheduled the appointment with, and all was set for 11:00 A.M. yesterday morning.
I get to running late, race the twenty something miles out to the tattoo shop in order to make my scheduled appointment (they'll sometimes take a walk-in in your place if it looks like you're not going to show up), fight through college town traffic and an unimaginable construction zone, and then finally pull into the parking lot at 11:05 A.M.
I take a deep breath (not because I was nervous, rather because my anxiety level had risen to abnormal heights in my effort to make the appointment), pop in a breath mint, and casually walk into the shop.
There are two guys behind the counter, one with tattoos on his throat (ow-mutha-fuckin-ouch!) working the computer slash cash register, and the other, a more clean cut sort wearing a beanie, organizing some things atop a glass display case, and a fairly hot looking, semi-voluptuous blonde with a single stud nostril piercing (BTW, I find these extremely hot) milling about the shop doing whatever it is she is supposed to be doing.
I was immediately greeted by the clean cut looking guy wearing a beanie. "Hey, what's up?"
"How's it going?" I retort.
"Not bad. What can I do for you?" He responds in kind.
"I have an eleven o'clock touch up appointment with Sammy," I say.
The throat tatted guy looks up and announces that he is Sammy.
"You're not the guy who did my stars," I say laughingly, yet confused.
"Who did them?" he asks?
"Ummm..." Felling a little embarrassed, I motion towards the first room to my right, explain that the guy was Hispanic.
"Triny," Sammy says. "Triny did your work."
"I guess so," I say.
Sammy laughs it off and faces me. "I was gonna say, it must've been a long time ago, because I don't remember doing any stars like that."
Although we're laughing about the fuck up, I'm unbelievably embarrassed. "Jesus Christ! My head's so far up my ass right now I can see out my mouth," I say to him.
Sammy turns to face the computer slash cash register again. "Hey, it happens," he says.
By now beanie guy has the appointment book out and asks me if I'd like to reschedule something. I tell him I do. After perusing the page, he comes up with some choices for Tuesday, the 14th. I don't think about the date, per se, and agree to a five o'clock sitting. Bad idea! That's the day of my daughter's 9th birthday party.
By now the semi-voluptuous nostril pierced hot blonde is in front of me, and as she smirks about the situation, I feel the coolness drain from my body. It's not like I wanted to get her name or anything, but still... you know how it is when there's a cute person in front of you and you've just made a complete ass of yourself... don't you? Well, don't you? PLEASE TELL ME YOU DO!
Anyhow, I make amends with Sammy for taking up one of his slots and move towards the door.
Once outside, I simultaneously wanted to laugh and run into traffic, but for obvious reasons, didn't. I simply climbed into the Xterra and, feeling like the mook I was at the moment, turned up Social Distortion's "Live at the Roxy," turning my thoughts to their impending concert on the 26th of the month.
And there you have it.
Now, I could tell you about the time I got caught masturbating, but...


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