The world went and got itself in a big damn hurry~Shawshank Redemption

I love technology, I really do, I embrace it like that cute boyfriend, that you just knew was bad for you but damn it he was fun. I want an entire jukebox at the tip of my fingers, I like instant mail, and I want to play Draw Something with random people when I want to play. Technology caters to the five year old in us. “I want what I want when I want it..and now”

That being said, I’m pretty certain it’s contributed to the human race’s growing impatience.  Like the title. We don’t wait for mail, wait to look something up, wait until someone has a phone to call us. It’s there.  Everything and everyone is right at our fingertips. Did that one bitch in high school go and get fat? Let’s look. Any random pondering any need is attainable. This plays to my ADD side nicely. The downside. I don’t have patience for people’s impatience.

It bothers me the most at work.  I blame Miami Ink. This is a day at the tattoo shop on television.

Kat: Can I help you?

Random dude with sketches and ideas.

Kat: yeah that sounds cool, when are you thinking about getting it?

Dude: I’m ready

Kat: Let me go draw this up..

One hour later and a good bit of video splicing you’re witnessing a beautiful backpiece photography shoot.

Things, that seem to confuse my clients in the last few weeks. When I say “can I help you?” It often means can I answer a few questions maybe jot down your ideas to draw on later, and get back to work.

The other problem is my time frame. I run late. I’m sorry I do. No one video splices for me. If I have an appointment that I think will take an hour or hour and a half I book 2 hours off in my calender. This leaves a little time to size the design, make changes set up, break down etc. This doesn’t account for the half dozen people who will probably come in and want to get prices and information. It doesn’t account for the guy that forgot to eat and got light-headed, or for the client who has to take that emergency phone call from her boss.  To be honest it doesn’t leave me time to eat or smoke. Smoking I manage (I have priorities) but eating is often done 10 hours later at home. To guess how long a tattoo is going to take is a lot more guess than knowledge. That easy rework I guessed at an hour didn’t account for the scar tissue or stretch marks I discovered later.. Shit slows me down.

Things to know about me. I really don’t fucking care. I don’t have a clock in my tattoo room, because it doesn’t matter. I can only promise that when I’m tattooing a person. Their time is my time. While they are in my room, it takes however long it takes and it doesn’t matter if there is someone waiting in the lobby because I know in my heart that when it’s that lobby person’s turn, I’ll take my time with them too. Tattoos hurt, they cost a lot, the least I could do is care. This is my system. Most people are cool with it, this last month has been a strange bombardment of impatient folks. They want to tell me their ideas and have me design it on demand, they are pissed if I stop to eat, they are pissed about the wait, they want me to rush my other clients because they are excited about their stuff.  It’s weird, and it’s slightly problematic for me, because in the end, I really don’t give a fuck. I love happy people, I love enthusiastic people, I love 99.9% of my clients. Impatient and rude people don’t make that cut.

And please for the love of god don’t make it a point to tell me how bored your small child is getting. Of course they are, that’s why babysitters rock.

I can’t really blame Kat Von D for ruining my life as much as I’d like too, because she paid her dues. Every tattoo artist knows if your machines aren’t running you aren’t getting paid. Clients don’t know this. They don’t know that I have to sketch on my days off so I can work at work and hopefully pay the rent man. I don’t want them to know that. I want them to have fun, be happy and have a great experience, and lately I just want them to be patient.

Sadistic Bitch

It is a huge myth that I am a sadistic bitch. It seems to be the going belief that I somehow get pleasure out of my whining, complaining, shaking clients. This is simply not true. I don’t do well with tears. My reaction is somewhat akin to my dad’s. I panic, then become instantly angry at whoever caused me this uncomfortable feeling of empathy. Real sweetheart huh?

The bottom line is I could care less. I’m there to tattoo and saying “you paid me fuckers” is impolite. I may be a total bitch, but I’m a well-mannered bitch. Crying definitely puts a lot of pressure on me morally.

I first realized how much pleasure people think could be had by someone elses pain when, for my birthday, my boss gave me a tattoo. Numerous people were disappointed that they were not there to witness my agony.

“I’d have loved to see that” they said. Voices dripping with evil sincerity. You paid me fuckers.

The second myth of my tattooing is that I try to finish up quickly if I feel bad. That is only half-true. Now I don’t mean I will give anyone a half assed design, but conversation will cease and I may not spend the extra 20 minutes rocking out additional highlights. This is not because I feel bad, it’s because I want their whiney ass out of my tattoo room, they are making me uncomfortable.

I love people. Humans are funny, they are breathing reality shows to me. I like their stories, their strange idiosyncrasies, and jokes. I love to people watch. Watching people writhe in pain is simply not fun for me. Unless of course they writhe in a humorous manner.

Carl writhing in pain

See? I’m a much better sarcastic bitch, than sadistic 🙂

Back to my normally scheduled work week.

My boss had a baby. Secretly I love her every bit as much as he does because, well, she’s a baby. She has lovely little toes, and smells a bit like lotion and lavander. Babies smell like clouds.

However beautiful and perfect this little cloud smelling princess may be, work has gone pretty haywire. I know myself pretty well. The good, the bad the ugly. I can do 40 hours alright. I can do 50 for about a week. After that I’m a useless bitchy frenzy of a human.

Marie, swears our customers can’t tell. She says this to me a lot. It’s become my pre-game pep talk. See if I can psych our customers up enough to not realize their sitting on the wrong side of the bleachers. So I laugh, cut jokes and pray to god half of them show up late.  By late I don’t mean politely late, I mean “stop for a sit down steak dinner” kind of late.

By my fucked up calculations this will put them getting tattoed at only approximately 12 hours past schedule, instead of 18. Total chaos.

Also, due to modern technology, most of my clients have my cell phone number and facebook, which is awesome. I gave it to them after all. What would be truely awesome would be that I actually used the handy dandy calander that came standard with the phone. Instead I spend most of the time like Peter Pan, searching for my shadow. Did I leave that appointment here?

I make a lot of breakable promises. I sound a bit like my Dad, “no problem” I say with only the mildest good intention of remembering.

The thing about tattoo shops is that there are no back up employees. You hire exactly what you need. Too many and all the employees are broke and disgruntled, too few and I’m crazy. Maternity leave has definitly made me crazy.

This week Eddie came back. I’ve never been so glad to see him. I even put on Killswitch Engaged for him, just to celebrate.

This weeks goals.. Clean my house, catch up laundry, actually draw my clients designs and just relax.

Man I thought she’d be cooler..

I have a cool job..a very cool job,  by default this does not make me the cool mom..

Sometimes my teenager hangs out at the tattoo shop so I get to overhear the many comments he gets..

“That’s pretty cool your mom is a tatto artist”

“I wish my mom tattooed”

“Do you have any tattoos?” (the answer to this is a big fat NO I made him perfect the first time)

“Must be great”

and on and on, all carrying the same jist that it must just be the coolest thing that his mom is employed..Personally I think the employed part IS the cool thing. To all of these he answers pretty much the same.

“um..no”

Fifteen year olds can be pretty blunt, even charismatic chatty fifteen-year olds know when “no” just says it all.

The thing is, I’m not at all cool. Especially not as a mother.

But bless his little punk rock heart, he keeps trying. Brandon is certain that with enough persistence there might be a cool person inside of me. He play his music rereatedly at me until Blood on the Dance Floor, and Blackveil Brides actually grow on me to the tolerable listening level.

Gotta love the Motley Crew facial stripes though..

The thing is I never set out to have teenagers. I always just kinda pictured babies.. Truth be told I never really even pictured this many of them. Don’t get me wrong they are not accidents (I’m totally pro-choice) They were just surprises. In all my inner visions of mothering, never once did a sarcastic cocky child, with 8 inch middle fingers telling me how much life blows when he’s grounded, come to mind. Never. But I’m fortunate, he still lets me walk somewhat near him at the mall, kisses me goodnight and tells me about all his anti-social stoner friends. (not that I approve but hey, at least I know)

So here is poor Brandon the epic guy with the not so epic mom.