|Did I mention I hate people?
||[May. 12th, 2007|06:56 pm]
|||||Bone Thugs - Lil Love (yes again... it's catchy)||]|
Wow, what a day.
I got called all kinds of names by a group of "bros" and maybe one of their dads or something. They walked in in the middle of the afternoon and they all wanted to get tattooed right then. I explained, nicely even though they started the whole thing with an attitude problem, that both artists are booked 2-4 weeks out and these guys were welcome to look around, get estimates, and make appointments. That was Not Good Enough and they decided to take it out on me.
First they asked if I could recommend somebody and I said, honestly, that there's only two people in this city I'll let tattoo me, and both of them work at my shop, so I couldn't in good faith recommend them to anyone I wouldn't go to. The dad started in on me, "You're so stupid. You know that? You know nothing. This guy knows nothing. He knows somebody to recommend but he won't say it in front of the other artists." etc. The three kids, my-age-ish, were cackling Beavis-style in the background. What a bunch of bullies. And, of course, when people -- okay, men -- act that way toward me, bullying, it makes me intransigent and cloyingly nice. I just turn on kid-mode, where you only give them so many choices, and they have to take one. Meanwhile, since I'm so small, when I get mouthy against a bigger guy, stay even, don't get louder, and keep smiling, they get terrified -- they can't figure out why I'm not scared of them, and they get scared of that.
But the adorable part of this story? I wandered into one of the studios after they left -- they had to get about 10 feet away before the dad called me "fucking fairy" as a parting shot -- and told the story to J., one of the tattoo artists. He listened, laughed, rolled his eyes, etc., as did his client (a really sweet regular I haven't seen in a few weeks). But then! Half an hour or so later he called me back into his studio. "You know, you never have to put up with verbal abuse or anything else from these fucks. The next time anything like that happens, you call me out there, okay? I'll take care of 'em for ya." I think I officially have a big brother.
And it gets worse! The incredibly wealthy kids upstairs -- have they figured out they go to my school, or not? -- filled our back porch with bags and boxes of beer cans and all manner of other alcohol effluvia. They drive $80,000 cars and go to a $40,000-a-year school (ahem I have a scholarship), but they can't seem to pay for garbage service; we've had nothing but problems with the stink of weeks of garbage upstairs, all the beer bottles, the drug deals we can hear through the walls, etc. H. found the mess in the back and asked me to go upstairs and deal with them. It took me arguing for half an hour with three of them, in three rounds, before they capitulated, but of course I won -- see my reaction to large men trying to intimidate me above. These stupid fucks are paying homeless men to remove their beer bottles. Since I was homeless for so long I almost punched that stupid Wei in his stupid face just for that; I was at work, so I didn't. But I did own all their stupid asses. The one they call Skid (Skit? Skip?) sucks less than the rest, for the record. He ended up trying to calm down his boys and work with me.
But that thing with J. just made my day. He knows I'm scrappy and he still wants to protect me. Learning that makes up for all the bastards today. Tonight I'm getting drunk with B. and we're going to have so much more fun than this dumb day (he doesn't know it yet but that is the plan).
edit: I'm fairly sure I'm gonna get jumped on campus, not outside the shop, once these kids figure out we go to school together. Which will not be fun for them.