15. Fake Tattoo

(Previously sent to friends as a “Happy Friday” email on 4/27/12.)

Before I retired, the elementary principals group had a monthly drawing at their Friday meetings.  The prize is purchased by the membership on a rotating basis.  It was my turn to buy the gift, and I wanted to find something more “creative” than the usual dinner for two at a very nice restaurant that anyone would LOVE.  That’s just SO predictable and joy-filled.  Not my kind of moment.  At the time, I was principal in a school near the E. Sprague area where there are many … mmm, “interesting” livelihoods.  I decided to look for a nice gift at a well-known tattoo shop … a place with protective bars covering the doors and windows and an inviting picture of an attack dog apparently waiting inside for after-hours visitors.  Typically, several custom Harleys were parked out front along with a faded Blazer that needed to be towed. 

I parked across the street and down a little to avoid scrutiny … and door dings.  This was AFTER my normal work hours, mind you, but before dark.  I took a deep breath and walked in … mentally prepared … casual like, as if I were a regular.  Thinking back, I probably should have lost the tie and penny loafers though.  I scanned the business looking for possible parents of kids I had in school, much like I’d do when buying beer, wine, or personal hygiene items at a neighborhood grocery. I was safe.  I found a sales associate and explained my situation: I needed a gag gift certificate for the principals’ group.  He didn’t appear to see the humor in it and just stood there glaring at me … with perhaps the same intensity he’d had while getting the snake tattoo around his neck.  Or maybe he’d simply noticed my principal’s ID badge that I’d forgotten to remove and was recalling the carefree experiences in school office areas as a youth. I told him I’d thought about getting a nice tattoo … andwouldjustmoverightalonganddoalittlebrowsingthankyou
verymuch.

They had a large selection of tattoos, and I was immediately drawn to the more traditional types … something a respectable sailor would have coveted while spending lonely months away from home on the high seas: buxom women!  There were so many to choose from.  I finally settled on one with a girl-next-door look -- if you were very, very lucky where you lived – and headed for the counter to inquire.  But, on the way, I lost the bounce in my step when I looked down at my scrawny forearms and thought, “Well, THAT’S not going to fit THERE.”  And it wouldn’t make sense to cut her in half to split across both arms … and try to show her off by locking my elbows and wrists parallel-like. It was the only time in my life when I actually envied Popeye for his arms.  And he only used the expanses for ANCHOR tattoos … what’s with THAT?  Disheartened, I returned the pattern back to the shelf and wished I had faithfully followed the Charles Atlas exercise booklet I’d sent off for as a kid … and could have stomached the regimen of bananas and wheat germ powder I’d whipped up in the blender.

Then it sparked!  I rushed back to Mr. Intense, showed him my arm, and asked, “Okay, how much for a PENCIL tattoo?”  He didn’t respond right away … possibly wondering if I was joking.  What … ME joking?  I remained earnest.  Finally, he quoted me, “$48.”  I pressed him, “Yellow, with a pink eraser?”  He responded, “Yeah.”  Still, I didn’t feel I’d really connected with him.  Glanced around, I noticed that all the other customers had tattoos which were much more sinister.  So I leaned slightly into his personal space, looked him straight in the eye, and asked, “How much to put some bite marks on the pencil … some reeeally JAGGED bite marks?”  He kind of lightened up with a little smile and told me, “I’ll just throw those in.”  Now we were talking.

I walked about the place mulling over the possibilities of having such a tattoo; you can’t just return a buyer’s remorse here. For starters, it might actually help with school discipline … Mr. Haymond’s legendary cruel tattoo.  Example: when dealing with a tough sixth grader who wasn’t about to cave that he’d made an error in judgment … I’d simply say, “Don’t make me show you … The Tattoo,” and s-l-o-w-l-y start rolling up my sleeve.  Yeah, that would get results.  But then I remembered that I was a professional and had to ask myself: an intimidation tattoo … in education?  No, Lou, THAT would be wrong. 

Hmmm, “THAT would be wrong.”  Do you know who made that statement famous? Richard Nixon, that’s who.  They found it on his secret recordings made in the Oval Office during Watergate.  After that, I recall thinking: “Richard Nixon, he’s MY kind of guy.”  In fact, Richard Nixon became my moral compass.  You see, sometimes when I’m just thinking along … kind of flat-lining, I get this blip where my mind suddenly starts telling me to do some “risky behavior.” No, no, no, not THAT kind of risky behavior … I mean the kind of risky behavior where I say or do something that makes me laugh and entertain myself … usually at someone else’s expense.  It’s the kind of risky behavior that a former district human resources director would later ask you, “What WERE you thinking???” … again.  So, from then on, just as I was about to do some risky behavior, I’d stop myself and say, “But, Lou, THAT would be wrong.”  And then I’d just go right ahead and do it anyway … just like President Nixon did. 

So, there I was at a cross roads with the pencil tattoo … facing The Neck, mano-a-mano … controlling the situation with a long pause and direct eye contact, I used my best Clint Eastwood voice and said, “ALRIGHT,  I’ve made a decision!  I’m just going to trot on home and check with my with.”  And then I beat it out of there!

L. Haymond

  “I yam what I yam, and that’s all that I yam.”  ~ District Nutrition Services

P.S. At the following principals meeting, the drawing was for a hand-made gift certificate from “Tigger Tattoo” and a romantic dinner for two at Dick’s Drive Inn.