I never thought I was the kind of person interested in getting a tattoo. As a younger kid, I always pictured a tattooed person as one with a rude demeanor and unfriendly disposition. My family was against the idea for the longest time, and always enforced the dangers of getting tattooed as I grew up.
At A Glance Author Steve When Two years ago Artist Molly Studio Painted Lady Location Virginia When I was 17, I began thinking that being tattooed may not be such a bad idea...in fact, it looked pretty cool. I had some friends (not many) who got tattoos when they turned 18, and I realized that it was not such a bad thing maybe. These were people I was friends with, and they were not in gangs, nor had they been in jail, or committed murder. These were straight A students with wonderful personalities who were being tattooed. Maybe I could get a tattoo?
I talked to my parents, and they were not completely against it. My mom just didn't want me to get anything that I'd regret later in life. My dad didn't seem to care as much, but I know he felt the same way as my mother. I wanted to please them, and not do anything dumb either.
It was the summer of 2003 when I convinced myself that I wanted to be a tattooed individual, but what to get? I had a few ideas: a religious cross, some kind of sports tattoo, a superman tattoo, I wasn't sure. I pondered a design for a few months and by July, I thought I had it figured out. I lived in Pennsylvania at the time and very close to the New York border, where I planned to get my tattoo. A friend of mine had recommended a small shop to me where the needles were clean and the people were friendly, two key personal requirements for getting a first tattoo.
On July 29, 2003 I walked into the shop to be tattooed. I was still debating about the design, not sure which would fit me most perfectly. The cross was most prevalent in my head; it was a tattoo I could envision on my body, and one that I would still enjoy at age 87.
5 minutes before my appointment was scheduled, I was looking around on the walls of the shop and noticed a honeybee design with a cute hydrangea flower as the background. I had to have it! I knew now what I wanted to be tattooed on me. The honeybee was black and yellow, and had a cute smile on its face, one that lit my face up with joy when I looked at it. I was extremely excited.
I was a bit nervous to sit down on the seat, but the guy was really nice and understood that I was getting my first tattoo. The first sound of the buzzing needles was a bit scary, and a sound that I'll never forget; it sounded like a rusty chainsaw buzzing in my ear.
Moe took his time to finish the bee; I'm sure it was a bit awkward tattooing my whole right butt cheek, but he was very professional about it. I can't really describe the pain. Everyone tries to do that, but every experience or attempt to give an accurate description has been off from my own encounter. If I had to try and describe the pain of getting a tattoo, it'd be almost synonymous with a person pressing a pen into your skin very hard, for a decent length of time. I'd say this tattoo took roughly six hours or so, but it was well worth it. Moe asked me at one point if I wanted to finish the tattoo in two sessions, but I knew that I'd rather have it finished at once than have to come back.
My butt was completely red and sore by the time he finished the bee. It looked incredible though. That's a huge understatement. Although Moe was partially blind in one eye, he's still considered one of the best tattoo artists on the west side of 38th St. in Port Jervis, NY. I think the total cost for labor was $145, which I completely agreed with. I would have paid $500 for his work. I gave him a $60 tip, as I was encouraged to do by him, and walked out of the shop with my pants in my hands, and a huge piece of saran wrap on my butt cheek. I was the happiest kid on earth. What an eighteenth birthday!
When I got home, I immediately showed my dad the tattoo. He thought it was pretty cool, but called me gay for getting a smiling honeybee with a large pink hydrangea as the back ground. I didn't care; I never really liked my father anyway, but that's another story for another time.
My mom cried for about 2 days after I showed her the tattoo. I guess she was expecting me to get that picture of Jesus' face I had promised to get. Oh well, she loves it now. I'm just glad that neither of my parents told me that I needed to get it removed! I would NOT have done that!
Since that first tattoo two years ago, I have proceeded to get 48 more tattoos, covering my legs and feet only. I'm too scared to get a tattoo on my arm, because I want to go into the FBI when I turn 25 in a few years.