Now that the headline has caught your attention, allow me to make note about fainting...We see a lot of it at the ol' tattoo shop. We're used to it. Fainting isn't what you think it is. It's not like in the movies, where someone gracefully brings the back of their hand to their forehead and swoons onto a nearby sofa. No, nothing like that at all. What really happens is that your brain catapults you into REM sleep, which is not a deep-level sleep, but, if you paid attention in science class, you know this is the stage of sleep in which dreams occur. Most often the fainters move about, sometimes thrashing violently as if they are having a nightmare. They often snore or make guttural noises, and quite often their eyes are open during the faint. So, to everyone who asks the question, "What do you do when someone faints, keep tattooing?" The answer is a definite no. We spend out time trying to wrestle them back into the chair so they don't hit the floor and crack their skulls and/or we try to keep their heads up so they don't swallow their tongues. Allow me to demonstrate the phenomenon for you, thanks to Youtube for the footage. These kids are making themselves faint on purpose...odd amusement, but it beats smoking crack, I guess. But, this is basically what we have to contend with when we deal with fainters....
Okay, now we're all clear on that. So, anyway, we had this guy who came into the shop from time to time. Big fella, well over six feet tall. Strapping, burly, picture Vincent D'onofrio's 'Edgar' from 'Men In Black', before he turned into a giant bug. Anyway, this guy comes in from time to time, sees his regular artist, and, each time, goes into a dead faint. He never got anything bigger than an orange on him, he usually made it most of the way through, and then near the end he was out like a light. One Saturday, his main man called in sick and I had to take over. I knew what I was in for, and I bravely accepted the challenge. Of course it was business as usual, he blacked out, came to, I finished the tattoo and he was on his merry way.
A few months later he showed up, needing a touch-up. I figured doing such a tiny little bit of work wouldn't even give him the time to faint, I should be in the clear. After the two minutes of tattooing, he seemed okay, and I began to clean up. "Uh-oh," he said suddenly, "I'm gonna go out." Sure enough, he did.
Now, remember, I said that this was a big brick wall of a man. I'm not all too big, myself, and I worked in a rather small room at the time. His legs shot out in front of him, and his feet slammed against the cabinet doors under my counter. His legs went stiff as boards and his knees locked, tipping the chair backwards as his back arched and his body began to spasm. I got behind the chair and braced myself against the back with all my might. Behind me there was a tall mirror, with glass panes on either side. Basically, if I just let him fly back and hit the wall, he'd either shatter the mirror and cut himself to ribbons, or go through the windows and possibly decapitate himself. So there I was, my back pressed to the mirror, feeling the tendons in the back of my legs straining as I tried to keep him from pushing himself over. I was also worried about his convulsing tipping the chair on its side, and I was simultaneously using my stringy arms to keep it upright. I had heard of grannies lifting cars off of babies, so I assured myself that I'd be okay as the burn in my shoulders spread down my arms, my elbows quivering from the strain.
After what seemed like ages, his legs went slack and his body sagged into the chair like a sandbag. I dropped my arms in relief and breathed deeply for a moment before lifting his head up. As he came to, he looked quite a bit disoriented, as fainters always do when they wake up to find themselves in a tattoo shop. Basically, it's like something hits the reset button on your brain, and you'd expect to be in your bed when you wake up. Instead you've got some tattoo artist smacking you in the face and possibly laughing at you.
After a minute, I became aware of a raunchy smell...it's not uncommon for people to lose controI to the point where they fart like crazy when they faint. Some even pee themselves, I've got a million stories about that.....So, there I was, stunned at the stink which was filling up my small, and rather warm, room. That's no fart, I told myself after a moment. And I was right. As soon as he had collected himself to the point of being able to get up and walk out, he did so with a humungous wet brown stain on his ass. Talk about losing consciuosness, even his bowels fell asleep on the job. Yikes! Still beats a puker, though, at least he took the mess with him. Not the stink, though. I was going bats all night trying to air the room out. Maybe I should have let him fall through the window, I would have gotten the room aired out a lot quicker. Needless to say, he never came back again. I don't blame him. It's hard to show your face after you show your shit.
