Tattoo obsession

Before my first tattoo, friends would tell me how addictive tattoos were and I never believed them, until I got my first one. My first one is a small one on my wrist, so insignificant that I always forget it is there. Although, it was enough to make me fall into the trap of tattoo addiction.

Not much time had passed but I wanted a new tattoo and probably would have done anything to get one. The universe must have heard my cry for desperation, after scrolling Instagram for a good hour, I came across an advertisement. A fresh apprentice was giving twelve weeks of free tatts. The catch was that he had never practiced on human skin before. I hit this random person up on Instagram, without taking a moment to think, I told him that I wanted a rose tattoo and the only reason he agreed to it was because it was something he wanted to practice. The logical part of my brain must have been asleep or away on holiday when this happened. We locked in a date and time.

The day comes, it is a bit of a trek to get to from my house on public transport, due to me not being able to drive. The tattoo shop is tucked in between a panel beater and a run-down laundromat. I have the choice to turn around and go home, but I walk into the shop. My voice is shaky from nerves, but I let the guy know at the desk who I am looking for because I didn’t actually know his appearance, just a name.

We get all the introductions out of the way and he lets me know that someone would always be looking over his shoulder and that if he did stuff up, one of the guys would be able to fix it for me. Which doesn’t give me a whole lot of confidence, but it is too late to back out by this point, according to my anxiety.

At this point the stencil has been placed on my arm. Everyone is happy with it. The guy is an artist, but can he tattoo, that is the most important question. The tattoo takes roughly around three hours, less if had been done by a person with experience in the industry. It ended up being one of the most uncomfortable experiences of my life. The tattooist was fine, it was the fact that during the whole session, I felt like I was being suffocated by people in a small space. One guy had his knees against mine for the duration of the tattoo, another I could feel his breath on the back of my neck. It felt as though everyone forgot what personal space was. I was some experiment and they were scientists making a detailed observation.

The tattoo ended up being decent, better than I expected. There are no regrets that it is on my skin forever, sorry to disappoint. On my way home, I texted my mum letting her know that I got a free tattoo. Her first reaction was shocked, which is to be expected and she thought that I got it done in a random person’s dodgy backyard. Her mind went straight to the scene where Rebel Wilson got a tattoo of a Mexican drinking work on the street in Bridesmaids. It probably would have been a funnier story if I had, but alas, I think the logical part of my brain would stop me, but then again, a tattoo addiction led me here, so I am not that confident that I would listen to it.