The Tattoo Parlor

In Cleveland, Oh, where tattooing was still illegal in 1997, I trucked out to the suburbs, where some drunk guy at a shady tattoo parlor put a crappy ankh on my arm.

Ten years later in NYC, I wanted to cover up this tattoo and I explained the situation to Shaky Mike, in a tattoo parlor in The Village that I wandered into at the spur of the moment.

He drew a new ankh over the old one and awhile later, I was in the chair ready to do the do. I was jammin’ to Led Zeppelin on radio as Shaky Mike prepared his supplies. But, before he started, he went to the radio and turned to a Hip Hop station in order to make me feel more comfortable, I presumed.

I cringed inside at the thought of having to listen to the vulgar and misogynistic lyrics of modern Hip Hop. For a split second, I thought of grinning and bearing it. Then I spoke up.

“I actually liked the Classic Rock station better,” I said.

Shaky Mike looked at me for a second, surprised.

“That’s right, you’re from Ohio!” He said then changed it back.