'Tattoo virgin' gathers courage.
braves the needle
STORY by JOHN RIGHTERj
A t a tattoo parlor, art is carried to its extreme.
Here, the tattoo design is an art form for exhibitionists and non
conformists who revel in the chance to express their individuality
through color, pain and intrigue.
This intrigue and self-expression is something everyone considers indulg
ing in, but few are willing to act upon the impulse.
Questions abound: What design would I want? How much would it hurt?
Would a tattoo change how I appear to myself and others?
Monday night I answered these questions by tasting the
pain firsthand at the Skin Deep tattoo shop in Bryan.
I already knew the design I wanted: four staggered black
rectangles that in the early ’80s hardcore scene symbolized the
ideal rules of “black and white” (no gray areas).
I was also sure I wanted the tattoo placed where it could be
concealed, and I chose a position just below my front left
shoulder.
With the decision made and stencil outline drawn, I had
only to wait. With my burst of courage (and I had no idea how
long it would last), the waiting was the most difficult part.
Unfortunately, I had no choice. A shark
with sunglasses (sketched on a very delicate
canvas) and a pair of Greek drama masks laced
with snakes and arrows were before me. Pent
with anxiety, I took the opportunity to quiz
Skin Deep owner Bill Nelson about tattoos and
tattoo shops.
Foremost on my mind was safety and the
sterility of the process.
Too many times I’d heard of parlors that
used the same needle time and time again,
playing a version of Russian roulette with each
customer. But an unopened package of nee
dies, an autoclave sterilization machine and a
hot cleanser apparatus for needles in use
largely appeased my concerns.
After being assured that the engraving was
uncomfortable at worst, and that about a quar
ter of Bill’s clients were Texas A&M sorority
members (which buoyed my resolve),
climbed into the chair. By this time I was as
tight as a board, and I suffered a speech re
gression of about 15 years.
When you sit in a dentist’s chair, you know
the drill will hurt, but you can always ratio
nalize the situation by telling yourself that it’s
beneficial to correct the cavity. In that case,
there is a method to the madness.
For some reason, that same rationale didn’t
wash in this chair.
For one. Bill wasn’t my family dentist. Bill
was a recovering drug addict who fit my image
of a tattoo artist perfectly.
I once drove by a tattoo parlor that doubled
as a motorcycle repair shop and thought that a
strange duality. Bill, however, with his full
beard, large frame and Harley Davidson T-shirt, made that same duality
appear particularly apt.
I was just as uncomfortable with the large group of onlookers interested
in Bill’s handiwork and my reaction to his needle. Though I enjoyed the
locker-room language and tattoo jokes, I was nervous about the fact that I
had no idea what my reaction would be like.
Pride was definitely at stake here (Bill warned me that it is not uncom
mon to pass out from the anxiety and discomfort).
But by that point, I just wanted to get started. Even extreme pain would
Battalion entertainment writer John Righter goes under the nee
dle for his first tattoo, a symbol for the rules of “black and white.”
be a welcomed improvement over the incredible anxiety I was feeling.
With the first cut, engraving the outline, I finally knew what I was
dealing with. Instead of a painful affliction, the needle was more of a both
ersome itch that prickled up and down my arm. It wasn’t an enjoyable feel
ing, but it also wasn’t the piercing sting that I had psyched myself to
expect.
Getting my tattoo was not without a few difficulties. Bill had warned
me about the possibility that my skin might not absorb the ink well, which
would cause some irritation and lengthen my time in the chair.
That’s exactly what happened. And although the pain was
less than I expected, the blood more than satisfied the local tattoo junkies
who were eager to see this “tattoo virgin” violated. Quite frankly, I bled all
over the place.
There was also a problem with laughing or flinching while
Bill was engraving. I passed the flinching part with flying colors, but had
difficulty not laughing at a Remote Control episode on MTV. My punish
ment is a barely noticeable slip, thanks to a Keith Richards look-alike skit.
Overall, my “devirginization” was the definitive “once in a
lifetime” experience. I enjoyed the banter among the clients, workers and
regulars in Bill’s shop, and I think I benefited from this unique view of
life.
And quite honestly, I really get a kick out of my tattoo.