New Orleans, Hurricanes... Tattoos... Oh My!

        My senior year of high school we went to New Orleans for fall break. The first night there after checking into our hotel we went to go look for a restaurant. My Mom had been told by numerous people "do not go to Bourbon Street after dark". Where did we end up eating? "A Streetcar Named Desire" on Bourbon Street. I loved the funky fun vibe of New Orleans. We walked around and then went back to our hotel. I was in cross country at the time so in the wee hours of the morning Jonathan and I went running. It was hilarious seeing people crawling out of the bars. Every time we went on a vacation we were allowed to pick out one present for ourselves. My sister wanted a hurricane from Bourbon Street. Jacob got a stuffed animal from the aquarium and I wanted a tattoo. Needless to say my Mom was less than thrilled with Bridget and my selection. We ended up getting our way but it was not till the tail end of the trip; which in my cases was quite fitting.
      We ate at great restaurants and heard wonderful live music. Finally, after many hours of trying to be talked out of my idea I was told that I could get my tattoo. We finished eating dinner and Jacob and Jonathan went back to the hotel while Bridget, Mom, and I went in search of a tattoo parlor. I'm not really sure what possessed me to want to get one. I was the only one in my immediate family who would have one. I just knew that I wanted it. We finally found one named "Forbidden Ink". It probably was one of the most sketchiest establishments I've ever been in. There were about five large guys in a group that were gathered together in a corner. They definitely gave off the impression that they were in a gang. There was a guy that was older with a grey greasy ponytail, piercings, and arm sleeves snoring loudly in an arm chair. He was wearing ratty jeans, stained wife beater, and black leather vest. There was one tattoo artist that was working painfully slow on one guys Chinese characters. My sister and Mom looked at me with a look that said, "yeah, let's get out of here, NOW." I knew that I had to appear strong and resolute about getting my tattoo here and now even if I was freaking out on the inside. The one artist took a break from her work and approached our little group. She introduced herself and then we heard a really loud snort from the sleeping man. He was up and out of chair and walking up to us.

    He was the owner of this fine establishment and he wanted to know what tattoo I wanted. Now, the only reason I was permitted to get the tattoo was because it would only be seen by who I wanted to see it. I told him that I wanted a four leaf clover and where I wanted it. We talked about the design and size. The female artist let the owner know the group of men where there before we were. He walked over to where they were and spent five minutes with them and then slapped J and T on each of one of the members arms.

"Um, nah nah... I'm T. J. not J. T.".... gang member

"It doesn't really matter..." tattoo man

       The lady went back to torturing the guy that we walked in on her working on by the speed she was going I'd guess he was there for hours. It was now my turn. I'd taken dance for 13 years so nudity never really bothered me but I was far from comfortable unzipping my pants in front of the gang members and the rest of the motley crew. Luckily, I only had to show a little bit of butt cheek skin. The tattoo artist warned me that if I moved I'd have a permanent mistake. I held on to my Mom and sister's hand. I was not going to move. I felt the needle and I was surprised how much it did not hurt. It took less then five minutes for him to do the outline and the two colors. The gang members stood there gawking with what I detected as a hint of respect with how well this preppy young lady was handling her tattoo. I've always had a very high tolerance for pain, something that has come in handy.

     The tattoo was wrapped up and I was done. I thanked the man who did it and as I walked by the gang they told me way to go and other positive acknowledgements. I was glad it was over. My little brother could not understand why I would purposely want to endure pain. I'm still glad that I did it to this day because it was definitely a bonding experience and I enjoy having a lucky hinny.