 |
|
|
|
|
|
 |
Tattoo Tales from Mike Malone |
This story is not such a funny tale as it is
unusual.
In 1982, Kandi Everett and I were
tattooing on Smith Street in Honolulu. We
had moved out of Sailor Jerry's old shop
and across the street into a bigger shop.
I was in the shop by myself one morning,
I often opened up the shop early, when
a woman who looked to be in her mid- to
late twenties came in. She approached
me and opened her mouth and struggled
with speaking while pointing at one of
her ears, letting me know she was a deaf
mute. She pointed to my tattoos and then
to her upper arm, making it clear she
wanted to be tattooed.
My hand swept to the walls covered
with display designs and I shrugged my
shoulders to indicate that I needed to
know what sort of tattoo she wanted. She
was quick to understand. I had tattooed
deaf mutes before and knew they were
quick to read gestures for words. She
gave me a big smile and held up one
finger telling me to wait as she went into
her purse.
The purse she carried was the first thing
that struck me wrong: it was a small
purse, like the one a little girl would carry.
What the hell, I thought. I've seen women
carry purses made of tin. Kandi carried
a purse that was a house painter’s grip.
So what if this woman wanted to carry a
funny little purse. Out of the purse, she
took a piece of yellow legal paper, more
in a wad than folded.
She gave it to me and I unfolded it and
took a look at her strange note. It took me
a while to decipher the writing. I made a
gesture that asked if she had written the
note. She smiled and nodded proudly that
she had. It was clear that she had very
little education - her writing and spelling
was on par with a third grader's. That was
second thing that struck me wrong. Still,
it was very possible she had not gotten
the luxury of a special education.
I sat down with the note, took a pen,
and started to untangle the jumble of
misspelled words. Here's what I came
up with: I HAVE A BOYFRIEND IN THE
MILITARY.
I showed it to her. She studied it carefully
for a while, finally her face broke into
a big smile. Bingo! I had it right. She
was excited and indicated she wanted
it tattooed on her arm. Then a look of
concern came over face as she acted
out, how much? I took the paper, wrote
$25.00 on it, and handed it back. She
looked at the price with relief, and looked
at me, and nodded with a serious look.
She wanted me to know she understood
about money and we were in business.
The price I gave her was a good 10 or 15
dollars lower than the going rate. I was
hoping it was too much for her tiny purse
but she sat down, ready for her tattoo. I
was clearly getting signals that she was a
bit addled but on the other hand perhaps
she was just the victim of a tough life,
a poor little deaf mute woman who had
found the love of some sailor. I didn’t want
to be the insensitive ogre that chased her
out just because she was handicapped.
She was clearly over 18. She had the
money. She really wanted the tattoo.
She sat through the tattoo like a champ,
setting her jaw against the pain, and
never moving once. She did all she could
to make it easy for me to do my job. I did a
real nice job of lettering the odd message
on her arm for life. When I was done, I
washed off the new tattoo and sent her to
the mirror for a look She looked long and
hard at her new tattoo, then she gave me
a huge smile. It made feel great to make
her so happy. I sat her down, washed the
work again, and bandaged her arm.
I gave her a sheet of directions of how to
care for her tattoo, "a get-well card" as
we call them in the biz. Smiling like crazy,
she went into her purse to pay me. Her
small hand came out of her purse with a
shiny quarter. She put it in my hand and
mouthed the words "thank you," as best
she could then left.
There I stood, looking at my quarter. Had
I mistakenly tattooed a retarded lady or
just been had by a deaf con woman? I
knew it was useless to go after her. To
waste even one more step on this venture
only meant I'd have to wear the fool's hat
that much longer. Let it go, I told myself.
When Kandi came in, I told her about my
morning and the deaf lady even though
I knew I'd get the raspberries the rest of
the day. The day went along okay, with
a regular serving of those raspberries
By 2pm, we were busy and the incident
forgotten. We had a few people in the
waiting room when I noticed a woman
dressed as a nurse. She looked to be in
her fifties and was clearly out of place in
our waiting room. I got curious and when
I got a break, I went out and approached
her "Can I help you," I greeted her. She
asked me if I'd tattooed a deaf mute
girl earlier today. I hung my head and
admitted I had, expecting the worst.
"She's my daughter and she's retarded.
She gets out of the house sometimes
and comes to town and gets in trouble.
She picks up men, drinks, and gets up to
all sorts of mischief but this is the first
time she's got a tattoo."
After that, I'd see the girl wandering
around Chinatown every so often. I'd point
at her and shake my finger, mouthing the
words "GO HOME!" Her eyes would bug
out and she would scurry up the street on
her way to do God knows what.
But probably not go home.
|
|
|
| |
|
