I hate your friend. Yes, I do. Yes, your best bro that you knew since third grade. Yes, your OMG LOL BFF since dance class when you were twelve. All of them, every one of them. Your friends...I fucking despise them.
Allow me to elaborate on that. I don't just hate any of your friends, I hate your friend that comes into the shop when you're getting tattooed. Allow me to also elaborate on that. I know, some people are nervous and feel reassured when they're not alone, I get that. But your friend is there for one reason, and that is for moral support. Occasionally, turning to them and saying, "What do you think, dark green or light green?" is just fine by me. I'm not always a rock-solid decision maker and occasionally asking someone for their opinion is a good idea. If I did it more often, I wouldn't be such a shitty dresser. So far, I'm not hating THAT friend. I'm hating that other one, that one that 75% of you feel compelled to bring in to the shop.
I hate that friend that takes the tracing paper stencil once I've drawn it and has to hold it up on you. This is after I spent a good half-hour or so busting my ass trying to get it just right, and I carefully place the tracing paper to your shoulder blade and say, "So, that'll be right there, just like that." You nod and say, "I like it." I concur. Then you look at your friend. Your friend holds out their hand and says, "Lemme see that." Then they manhandle it like it's an old shred of newspaper, not even minding the fact that pencil on tracing paper is highly smudgy, and tracing paper is easily wrinkled. So, they smudge the design and crinkle up the paper so my carbon stencil is going to come out like total shit. And then they hold it up on you, facing backwards, in a really poorly placed spot and say, "I was thinking more like this." Backwards and crooked? Oh, thank you, thank you very much, I couldn't have done this without your mastermind friend here. I was actually going to put the tattoo on correctly, but he helped me to see the error in my ways. Now, you're looking at me in utter confusion because your friend is saying something different than I am, and you're wondering who to trust. Well, think hard about your choices: trust the guy who's been doing tattoos day in and day out for years and years and years, or the teenager who works at Tastee-Freez. Your choice.
I also hate your friend because your friend is a cheapskate. You ask me for a tattoo and I give you a price. You enthusiastically assent and then your friend makes that sucking sound through their teeth. All of a sudden, you're looking at your friend and asking, "What?" Your friend says that's too much. Now you look concerned. Your friend is saving you from me, the vicious predator who is going to rob you blind and leave you with nothing. I clearly am not to be trusted, with my awards hanging on the wall and my portfolio thick with photos of beautiful work. Clearly I am some sort of charlatan, with the peculiar notion that quality does cost money. Your friend is here to remind you that lifetime of happiness from the expertise of an artisan should be an act of charity. Then comes the final insult: Your friend rolls up/pulls down the edge of an article of clothing and shows a tattoo that is 1/4 the size of what you're getting, and looks like an apprentice did it with one eye shut and a raging hangover. Your friend proudly points out that this tattoo only cost $40, or some other insanely unreasonable figure, and then looks at you expectantly, wondering how you could be so foolish with your money.
You look nervously back to me. Naturally, your friend, who works at Tastee-Freez, would have a far better idea of what is acceptable pricing for tattoos, and what can I do to match that price? I can't, and I won't. Your friend huffs and puffs about 'a rip-off' and says they'll wait in the car. The clincher? That friend isn't paying for your tattoo. It's your money, your decision, and your friend thinks that you can not only not choose your tattoo wisely, but you cannot even handle your own money.
I hate your friend who draws. I have never actually met this friend. You have me draw a perfect, beautiful custom tattoo for you. Annd then when I'm done you flippantly tell me, "I'm going to have my friend draw something for me." This is because, before you came to see me, you called your friend at Tastee-Freez and he said, "Don't worry, I'll draw you something." And you're pretty sure that your friend, with his three high school art classes will design a far superior tattoo than a tattoo artist will. You completely believe that someone who has never, ever attempted to translate art on paper to art on skin will have the foresight to know what can and cannot be executed in a tattoo. I cringe when I recall the drawings I made for my friends' tattoos before I started tattooing. I always wondered, when they came back to show me the actual tattoo, why there were so many differences from what I had drawn. That was because I knew how to draw drawings, not tattoos. They are, and always will be, two different things, despite what your friend has told you.
I hate playing twenty questions with your friend. I'm deeply engrossed in your tattoo and I'm getting pelted with an endless barrage of stupid questions that not only distract me, they infuriate me. I'm not one of these people who can't do two things at once. I like to bust balls and shoot the breeze and joke around while I work, on most days. Somedays I like to keep quiet and enjoy the hypnotic buzz of the machine against a good song. But when I have to field an endless string of stupid questions, it agitates the shit out of me. And that agitation is sucking up valuable brain space that I need to do your tattoo. Your friend, who insisted on coming along with you after he got off work at Tastee-Freez, cannot let you have your moment. Your friend doesn't give a shit that both of us are in the middle of something and that a third wheel is distracting. Your friend wants to make this all about satisfying their personal curiosities about what I do, and possibly trying to convince me that they are a total badass.
"How much does that gun cost? How much are the inks? Can you get those anywhere? Did you go to school for this? How long did it take you to learn? How many tattoos have you done? Do you make a lot of money doing tattoos? How do you become a tattoo artist? Can you get tattooed while you're drunk? Does it hurt? What's the most painful place to get a tattoo? Does it hurt on your foot? How much to tattoo my whole back? What's the weirdest tattoo you ever did? What if I smoke weed before, is that okay? Do you think some tattoos are stupid? What happens if people pass out, do you keep going? What happens if you mess up? How much would you charge me for this (shows a tattoo they already have)? When you were a little kid, did you want to be a tattoo artist? Did anyone ever quit halfway through the tattoo? Does it hurt on your neck? What's the coolest tattoo you ever did? How much would it be for a tribal from my wrist to my shoulder?" And on and on and on. I will also add to the fact that I'm getting older, and years upon years of too-loud music and tattoo machines buzing seven inches from my ear have damaged my hearing. So compound my poor hearing with the fact that there is music playing in the shop. Also, I have a tattoo machine seven inches from my ear, and there is at least one more buzzing away nearby. There is the chatter of my co-workers, other customers, the phone ringing....So, now, I'm breaking away from your tattoo to look at your friend and say, "What?" because I didn't hear the stupid question. I ought to just pretend I'm deaf. So, your friend is not just distracting and annoying the person who is putting something on your body that will be there forever and ever and ever. Your friend does not care that this is your time to do something fun for yourself, and is insisting on making it all about himself.
I don't dislike it when people bring friends. We often have a good time, and your friends often become my future clients. I like that people can come in here and see what we do and get excited about it. I'm excited about what I do, and that's why I write this blog. I hate that people have to fuck up something that I love to do. But I love to share what I do with people, I love to see you and your friends get excited and come down here and hang out and have a good time. But you gotta ask yourself if you have that friend that I hate. Because that friend doesn't just irritate me; that friend doesn't think all that much of you. That friend doesn't think you're that smart or capable or responsible. That friend thinks you're hopelessly dependent on them. That friend doesn't really care what you want. Leave that asshole at home and come in with someone who respects you.
