I certainly don't expect people who don't tattoo and/or pierce for a living to know the proper terminology for all the things we do and use. I certainly wouldn't go into a machine shop and start giving all the stuff in there names that I would think are appropriate, nor would I start talking out of my ass like I know something about their stuff. So, keeping that in mind, it's hard for me not to snicker into my sleeve when I hear some of the phrases people come up with for the equipment we use. And what really kills me is the smarty-pants know-it-alls who try to impress their friends about the tools of our trade.
Most people refer to the tattooing apparatus as a "tattoo gun". This one I will overlook because, once upon a time, I thought it was called a tattoo gun as well. One of my mentors broke me of that on my first day as a wee apprentice. "You shoot people with a gun. You tattoo people with a machine." I still hear that echoing in my head to this day, and I cringe whenever I hear a fellow artist call it a "gun".
I think the best is what some of the body jewelry gets called. "Barbell" is a word that seems to confound even the smartest of folks. It's a stick with a ball on either end, it looks like the barbells in the old cartoons, simple enough. But the things I've heard it called just kill me, and it's so hard for me not to burst out laughing when customers ask for one. Nothing like having a wide-eyed young girl coming in and asking if we have "the poles with two balls." I wish at that moment all the guys on staff could simultaneously drop trou and show her all the poles with two balls we have in stock. Of course, we'd all be paying her therapy bills for the next seven years, but, by God, it would be so worth it.
And there are plenty more clever names for barbells, too. "Dumbbell" (now that one I can sort of see, it's still describing a piece of gym equipment that is the same as a barbell, but smaller.), "Dumb-bar" (from here on out I don't get any of these) "Bell-bar" (does it jingle?) , and my all-time favorite, "Barbarian" (I shit you not. When this woman asked for a barbarian, I directed her to a sheet of flash with some horned-helmet wearing, axe-swinging Frank Frazetta looking stuff. When she looked totally perplexed and explained that she wanted jewelry for her tongue, I was almost in tears trying to contain my laughter).
What kills me is the smartass who stands in my doorway, watching his friend get a tattoo and loudly explaining all the technical stuff to the rest of the group in tow, usually young, dumb, females, possibly slightly inebriated. "The outline uses one needle and the coloring one uses two needles," He'll say sagely as the gals ooh and aah over his smarts while his friend squirms in the chair. I love to correct this clown. And not nicely. For those who were around for the fine-line craze of the 80's, you know what shit those tattoos turned into, and that's why single needle liners are so rarely used it's not even funny. Thank God for the resurgence of traditional....And could you imagine trying to color in a giant tribal with a two-needle shader, as if there even was such a thing? Egads. Or they announce to their admiring listeners that the lining is done with one little needle, and the shading is with one big needle. When I hear that one, I picture making these giant punctures with a needle the size of a pencil, and the dude's arm is covered with these gaping, ragged holes with blood pouring everywhere. What a horrid thought. I make sure to shoot that idea down quickly as well.
What's cool is when they half-ask, half tell, as if they want to test my knowledge of what I've been doing for the last decade. "Black hurts more than color." They say to their friends, and then tack on a "Right?', addressed to me, so I can confirm his wisdom and make him look extra-cool in front of Tyffannie, Ashleeyie, and Breeannieah.
"No," I reply sternly, and tell him it all feels the same. Same needle, same technique, it doesn't matter the color of the ink that's going in. Coloring and/or shading all feels the same no matter what color you use. Then he has to half-backpedal, half-argue with me, as the teenybopper fan club is now beginning to doubt the infinite sagacity of their friend. "Really? I thought it was, I mean, I heard a lot of people say that, I mean--"
"Nope," I'll cut him off, trying to save him from his own buffoonery before it's too late.
I like it when they give their friends the hushed, play-by-play, like that of a golf announcer. "Now's where they change needles for the next color," he whispers with awe. Then I unceremonioulsy dunk the tube in a cup of water, step on the gas and rinse it clean. I dip in the new color and go back to it. "Where's the new needle?" one of the gallery gals will ask their friend, with great concern in her little voice.
"No new needle. I rinse and move on," I reply loudly, and now Mr. Know-it-all is Mr. Douche-it-all. Ha ha!
I love it when dudes swagger in and try to look bad-ass in front of their friends. One in particular stands out in my mind. I asked them if they needed help when they walked in the front door. The big dumb lummox leading the way slapped his bicep and said, "I wanna get some paint."
I pointed off in some direction and told him, "Home Depot is that way," without changing expression one iota. His friends cracked up laughing, and I was high-fiving myself inside my head.
Like I said, I forgive ignorance. I don't know much about anyone else's profession, and I won't pretend like I do. And I don't expect anyone to know all about mine, either. But if you walk in talking out of your ass, I promise you'll leave feeling like you are a talking ass.
