We were invited to a pool party for a bunch of people from work, and I thought it would be fun to show up with a tattoo. Not a real one, of course. A real one would have been easier and less painful.
I got online and looked for airbrush tattoo artists, thinking I would get someone who could paint my whole upper torso or even a fake sleeve. Wouldn’t that be cool? I only found “face painters” available for party bookings.
Next stop was henna. I contacted a local woman who does henna tattoos, but she called it mehndi. I don’t think calling it mehndi jacks up the price, but there seems to be a spiritual component, and I did not pass the test when I told her it was a prank for a pool party. Maybe some other time, she said.
Then I called an actual tattoo parlor. No one answered, and I was secretly grateful. This was a dumb idea. Ten minutes later my phone rang.
Strange Voice: Yeah.
Me: Um, this is Donna, can I help you?
Strange Voice: Yeah, you called?
Me: Who is this?
Strange Voice: Tattoo?
Me: Oh! Tattoo guy! I didn’t leave a message!
Tattoo Guy: Caller ID.
Me: Yes, yes, of course. Well, you see, I was wondering if you do temporary tattoos.
Tattoo Guy: For what medium?
Me: What?
Tattoo Guy: Exactly, what do you want? What’s it for?
Me: I’m going to a party, and I would like a fake sleeve tattoo.
Tattoo Guy: I could do that.
Me: Really? Would it stay on if I got in the water? It's a pool party.
Tattoo Guy: No. Why don’t you just get a real one?
Me: I’ve thought about it, but I scar badly.
Tattoo Guy: You didn’t tell me you wanted to cover a scar.
Me: I don’t. I was just saying. That’s why I don’t want a real one.
Tattoo Guy: You want to cover it or not?
Me: No, I mean yes, could you?
Tattoo Guy: It’s tough. Gotta punch through the scar tissue.
Me: Sounds painful.
Tattoo Guy: How old are you?
Me: 53.
Tattoo Guy: I ain’t punching no old ladies.
Me: I see. Well, thanks.This was helpful.
Tattoo Guy: Yeah, cool. Call back if you change your mind.
About what? Getting “punched” by a crazed tattoo artist with compromised language skills?
I finally confessed to one of my colleagues about my plan. He said go to the Harley store. They have these mesh things that look real. I called first. Yeah, they had them. I stopped on my way home. Still dressed in my work clothes, looking a bit out of place at the Harley store.
About six guys in leather were sitting around and one jumped up to greet me. “You need help?” By now, I’m done with explanations. Just give me the merchandise. I want the fake tattoo sleeves. Oh, he said, one of the girls in the back can help you.
So, I walk over to one of the girls in the back, and I tell her I'm here for the sleeves. It felt like a drug deal about to go bad. “Oh," she says and then pauses ever so slightly, "You’re the one who called.” Like you're the fricking idiot who called. She took me over to a glass case (these are quality fake tattoos!) and I had a choice of dragons and dragons, I think. I picked dragons. I noticed a nice Harley temporary tattoo and I said, oh, I could get one of those, too. For a tramp stamp.
Oops.
“Or for your arm,” she says between gritted teeth.
I paid my $12 and I was outta there. I wore it to the party, as depicted in this actual pre-party photo, and I fooled two people before I got hot, took it off and jumped in the pool.
The first person I fooled was nervous about my future at work. I tried to blow it off casually with comments like, "Oh, they'll just have to get used to it." "I do what I want." She shook her head in disbelief.
The second person I fooled thought it made perfect sense. He asked me why dragons. I said I had a thing for dragons, and he believed me.
Later, after all was revealed, he seemed almost disaappointed. I had seemed like such a free spirit, he said.
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