Ah, hey there, kiddies. It's been quite some time! I decided to take a little hiatus from the industry, I was rather burnt. Those of you who do what I do can understand that completely. As much as we love it, this is a job than can grind you down to a raw, pulsing nub. So I took some time off, got myself together and did a bit of travelling. On my return, an old friend got a hold of me to do a little work, and after some arm-twisting, I conceded. I realized, as I went through the motions as if I had been working all along, that I missed tattooing terribly, and it was time to pick up the irons and go back to work. As if by divine providence, an old friend and former co-worker got in touch within a few days of my decision, and asked if I'd come work for him. I jumped on the chance and now I've been back in the saddle for a little while.
Truthfully, this blog had sort of slipped my mind while I was off galavanting around the world, and as something really hilarious happened here at the shop, I was reminded of something that happened when I was apprenticing. Then I remembered this page. So, for those of you who have been waiting, I appreciate your patience, I promise I will pay due dilligence. I'm witnessing all sorts of goofy things, and I can get online while I'm here, so I will keep you occupied with more tales of tattooing terror! So, wihout further ado...
When I was a wee apprentice, I worked in a real roughneck street shop. The owners were a couple of leathery, old-schoolers who smoked until a thick haze hung in the air all over the shop, and they cursed up blue streaks that could make a sailor blush. One afternoon, I was busy tracing flash when this woman walked in the door. Well, I shouldn't say she walked, it was more like she squeezed through the frame. I had never seen anyone so huge in my life. And I don't mean she was tall. If she was five foot five, that was being generous. But she was easily four hundred pounds, EASILY. I was pretty wet behind the ears about the ways of the word at the time, so I was stunned at the sight of her. These days, I don't even bat an eye at this stuff.
So, she waddled up to the counter, huffing and puffing, and says she wants a rose on her ankle. I nod silently in amazement and summon one of the bosses from the next room. He comes in, filterless cigarette burning away in his calloused, yellowed fingers. He speaks to her succinctly but politely, until she settles on a little traditional piece. He points her back to his section and tells her to have a seat while he gets ready.
"Jesus Christ, kid, you see that fuckin' bison there?" he mutters to me as he runs the stencil and I try to stifle a laugh. "Like someone let a fuckin' elephant loose in the fuckin' joint!"
Just then, there was a horrendous clanging sound, and a thud that rattled the keys on the counter. "What the fuck?" Bossman snarled, and hurried into the next room. I followed behind, and we both came in to see the woman lying on the floor, her legs in the air, and the tattoo chair on its back. Now, if you don't know what kind of chair I mean, it's the same thing you see in a barber shop. This was one of the older kinds, with the quilted black vinyl seat and back, and the heavy, detatchable arms. It operates on a hydraulic system, where you pump up a foot lever to raise the chair, we're talking a big, heavy chrome piece of work furniture. And there it was, completely fipped on its back like a child's plastic chair.
We ran over to help her up off the tile floor, this place was floored in that old-style ceramic over cement, we were hoping to God she wasn't seriously injured. She wasn't, but she was understandably humiliated. We helped her to her feet as the other boss came charging out of the back room.
"What that fuck was that?" He snapped, a blue plume of cigarette smoke trailing behind him. He realized quickly what was going on and came over to help as we righted her. Grabing hold of the chair, he tried to turn it back over, and realized something was wrong. He said something to the other boss, and then went and fetched one of the other guys from outside. The two of them picked up the chair and carried it into the back while I moved a spare into its place. After a minute, I heard the boss barking my name from the back and I dashed in to see what was going on.
When I got there, the boss was standing there with one had on his head, completely perplexed, while the other guy was inspecting the underside of the chair, looking equally baffled. "Would ya look at that? What the fuck?" Bossman spat. I crouched down to take a look and I couldn't believe my eyes.
The underside of the seats on these chairs is a slab of wood, and this is what the hydraulic mechanism attatches to. On top of the wood is all the padding and then the seat cover. On this particular kind of chair, that wood is a slab of particle board, about two inches thick. This piece of wood was snapped completely in half like a saltine cracker, right down the middle. The bolts that attatched the hydraulic pole to the wood were completely torn free from their holes.
"Holy shit, look,"my co-worker said to Bossman, pointing to the hydraulic pole. We're talking about a solid steel rod, nearly four inches in circumference. This rod was bent, BENT, at a 15 degree angle.
"It looks like it got hit by a fucking garbage truck!" Bossman bellowed, and the three of us burst out laughing. The next day, he caled the guy who made the chairs, and he came over to pick it up from the shop. After bringing it back to his shop, he informed my boss over the phone that it was beyond repair, and whatever we did to it was well beyond what these things are supposed to withstand. "I'm tellin' ya," I heard Bossman bark into the phone," This fuckin' water buffalo sat on the fuckin' thing, what do you want me to do?!?" He ended up having to pay for a new one anyway. From then on, we crossed our fingers every time someone ginormous came in, hoping that the chairs could withstand the punishment....
