Spilled The Ink On That One

, , , | Working | June 17, 2019

(I have made an appointment to get a tattoo covered up. I sit down with the artist to talk about my options.)

Artist: “So, which one are we covering up for you?”

Me: “This one, right here. The one that says, ‘[Male Name].’”

(I roll up my sleeve and show him the tattoo of a small heart with “[Male Name]” written under it.)

Artist: *rolls his eyes* “Ah, broke up, did you? This is exactly why I don’t tattoo names on people.” *shakes his head*

Me: “Uh, no, it’s not like that. It’s actually–” *cuts me off*

Artist: “This is seriously one of the dumbest tattoo choices you can make. I mean, how stupid do you have to be to tattoo a boyfriend’s name on you? Jesus, c’mon. Nothing lasts forever these days.” *shakes his head again*

Me: “It’s not my boyfriend’s name; it’s–” *cuts me off again*

Artist: “Fiancé, husband, whatever. You’re a real idiot for tattooing his name on you. I mean, seriously–”

(Sick of his s***, I cut him off.)

Me: “Actually, it’s my father’s name. I got it as a memento four years ago when he died. Or I should say, when he faked his own suicide so he could go live with his new family on the other side of the country, which we just found out about. I want it gone. But I am definitely not doing that here. Goodbye.”

(The artist went absolutely white and tried to spit out some sort of apology, but I was already halfway out the door.)

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