I remember getting my first tattoo. My sister took me, it was a birthday/christmas present. I always hated having my birthday so close to christmas because presents would just get mooshed together (all you other sag kids know what i mean) however, when i wanted something big it could pay off.
So for my 18th birthday my sister took me to begin a journey between ink and skin. She was only home for a week on her christmas break, so time was crunched and there was only really one day left for us to go. my parents were okay with me getting one (sort of) but refused to take me (didnt want to be held responsible), so it was up to my wonderful, loving sister.
I woke her up earlier than she would have liked, but she could tell i was stoked, and was being a good sport about it (which is huge because she is NOT a morning person). So we got in the crap mobile that our parents let us drive and headed out of our small town and to the nearest tattoo parlour. now, my sister wasnt feeling 100%, but we both kind of brushed it off as too much eggnog the night before, or just the fact that it was before noon and her body wasnt used to functioning for atleast a few more hours. however this wasnt the case.
About half way into town, she pulled over quickly on the side of the snowy highway so that she could be sick. we contemplated turning around, but decided it was now or never and she was up for it. needless to say i drove the rest of the way.
When we showed up, she was doing pretty good holding her own, but since we didnt have an appointment we had to wait for a bit. awhile into waiting though my sister hit the bathroom, and was throwing up her innards. i had a few minutes left before troy (tattoo artist) was ready for me so i literally RAN down the street to the pharmacy to get some drugs. but what kind of drugs do you get for something like that? it was beyond my freshly 18 year old mind, so i grabbed some ovalo for indigestion (wtp is indigestion anyway?) and ran back. i slid it to my sister in the bathroom and headed over to talk to troy.
troy and everyone that worked there were such good sports. he redrew my tattoo until it was perfect, and was nice and caring to my barfing sister who tried to stay with me while getting tattooed. she spent the whole time running between the bathroom and troys room, holding my hand with hers (hers being the sweatier and more shakey of the two) the song kryptonite, by three doors down (i dont really know if that is the name or the band.. or if im royally confused, but ya'll know what i mean) was playing while i was being done, and now whenever i hear that song, it makes me want to run out and get tattooed. me and that song have a certain ink affinity.
my tattoo turned out beautiful despite all the drama occuring simultaneously. i got to hear troys greatest stories of barfing and being sick, and i also got to see the kinder side of the many pierced and tattooed cronies who hang out there. they tended to my sister with more kindness than some nurses possess, and ungrudgingly cleaned up the bathroom behind her.
my sister and my tattoo both healed wonderfully within no time, and okay, i know this story may have taken longer to read than most tattoos do to heal, i enjoyed telling it, and i suggest to everyone that they make sure whoever comes with them is in tip top shape!
p.l.&h.
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