Tattooist's parlour

In the tattooist's parlour, the piercer thought he recognised me.

Now, I'm a middle-class, middle-aged (more or less - well okay, rather more than less), white, educated woman that doesn't usually frequent tattooing parlours, let alone get recognised in them.  In fact, this was, I must admit, my first visit to a tattooing parlour. So if you look at me, would you think that a tattooist would recognise me, like do I hang out with tattooists  or with people that are covered with tattoos, or with people who have just a few tattoos?  Well, yes to that one because I've got a tattooed step-daughter and a tattooed PhD colleague.  But to look at me with my white hair, my middle-of-the-road if not somewhat conventional clothes, you wouldn't assume I have much acquaintance with tattoos.  Yes okay okay, so I've got three tattoos, but they're my radiotherapy tattoos and don't count.

What am I doing in a tattooist's parlour?  I'm escorting, chaperoning, encouraging - well she asked me to come - some female who is about to get her ears pierced.  Nowadays, you don't get your ears pierced like I got mine done at 22, in a back room sitting on a chair at a jeweller's shop.  You can get them done in bling shops like Accessorize, by some shop assistant while you sit in the window being watched by the world.  When I asked at the jeweller's about getting ears pierced, they said they don't do that any more but they advised me that a tattooist would be much more reliable and sensible about piercing ears than a shop assistant.   And indeed, I'm well impressed.

We walk in to a small dark, very full and very busy shop in the Aylesbury gyratory - that means it doesn't have exorbitant rents like the shopping malls demand, but from the outside it seems a bit seedy.  Inside the walls are covered with beautiful drawings of flowers, and fancy letters and flowing drapes on feminine forms.  The piercer, a strong beefy man in his thirties, tattoos peeping out at the end of his shirt sleeves, asks me if I'm worried about female friend and I assure him I'm not, that I had my ears done at the same age, and she's old enough to make up her own mind.  As female friend fills a form about her health and name and what she's having done, I chat with an assistant.  He tells me that he's only been there for six weeks, but that he's learned more about drawing in six weeks here than he had in four years in school - he has an A-level in art.  I'm impressed.

The piercer calls me into a back room to check that the marks he's put on female friend's ears are acceptably even. They look okay to me.  He tells her what he's going to do and how.  That's when he comments that he's recognised me.  Female friend lies down on the couch - I notice cleaning equipment round the room - this is a hygienic procedure. He tells her how to breathe, leans over, and that's one ear pierced.  She has to turn over, move to the other end of the couch so he can reach her.  I see some interesting models of body parts with various piercings.  The other ear is already pierced and it's bleeding a bit.  The piercer inquires if she drank any alcohol the previous evening because alcohol can cause the blood to flow a bit more but she hasn't drunk - it's just her.

It's all done; she can pay and leave.  I'm further impressed as a gaggle of giggling girls pile in and the piercer tells them that they are not all coming in his clinic at the back because he doesn't want any peer pressure on the youngster that says she wants her tongue pierced.  This man does a psychological assessment on his customers before he provides the service.

And yes, he and I do have something in common.  We both play tae kwon do and he's seen me at the black belt training sessions.