 |
|
 |
MIAMI INK: Part Three: Action: The Twist |
|
 |
|
MIAMI INK: Part Three: Action: The Twist
LEMONS
I ask whether or not I should leave or wait. Garver tells me to just chill out on the bench. “It will only be a couple of minutes,” he says and moves to where my tattoo will be done to prepare the ink. I awkwardly sit down and pick up a tattoo magazine. Whatever images I am looking at are not registering. My mind is elsewhere. I am thinking about how weird that it is that this is even happening, yet…. something isn’t right. “Do you want color?” he asks.
“Ah yeah,” I say. I am getting the vibe that he just wants to get this over with and have me out of there.
“Are you done with that yet Yoji?” Garver is clearly impatient. It’s been all of 4 minutes since he gave the design to poor Yoji.
Yoji, meanwhile seems to be struggling to trace my design. “It’s hard,” he says.
“You don’t want a fairy or anything?” Garver bitterly says to me.
“Ah…no.” I reply.
“Oh, so I guess you weren’t molested then?” he says sardonically. I am silent. What a dick. I’ll never look at a fairy tattoo the same way again.
Garver berates Yoji or says something to piss him off and Yoji crumples up the tracing paper and throws it at Chris. “It’s your fucking tattoo,” he says and storms out the door.
Good for you Yoji. My instinct is to do the same thing. The energy in the room is quickly going from bad to worse. I am feeling more and more uncomfortable with every passing minute…and it’s just getting interesting.
Garver moves to the drawing board and takes a stab at tracing the tattoo himself. “Shit. This is hard.” He is cursing and muttering under his breath. “This isn’t going to come out perfect,” he says. “It’s impossible. There are too many perfect circles.”
“Ohhhhhkayyyyyy…” I say. Is this really happening?
I know that the producers like to try and create drama for the sake of the show, but this whole situation seems a little too real. In my mind flashes an image of the show. Me frustrated, saying, “Ohhhhkayyyyy.” Cut to Garver’s confessional: “I was worried about the technical aspect of the design…if she was expecting it to look like it did on paper, she was going to be disappointed….blah blah blah.”
You can cut the tension in the room with a butter knife. I am wondering what the hell is going on. I sense that Garver in no way, shape or form wants to do this tattoo. Cut back to me: “You didn’t notice this until now?” I ask.
“I’ve never seen this until right now.” He snaps.
I get up to go over to the board to talk with him. “Are you in a bad mood?” I ask.
“I’m always in a bad mood as long as these cameras are on and I’m here,” he says bitterly. Oh God, I think I see what’s going on here; it’s my karma for all those customers I waited on at the end of my days waitressing--when I was at the end of my rope. If I didn’t know any better, this guy is trying to get fired.
“That’s just fucking great.” I say. Now I’m getting pissed. Garver and his bad attitude have my attention now. Forgetting about the dumb show, I inadvertently start breaking all the rules. “I’m just wondering why this didn’t occur to anyone until right now. Why didn’t anyone (I gesture to the producers) notice this before I flew down here?”
I forget about the cameras. I forget about the rules. I forget about everything. The only thing I can think of is the fact that this is the only weekend I could have been at home in between all of my travels; that I just want my cute logo tattoo and I wish this guy would stop being a dick to me for no reason. I sit back down on the bench.
“Ah Bridget, can you get up and sit back down again?” says one of the camera guys.
“What?” Jesus you have to be fucking kidding me.
“The camera wasn’t running when you sat down,” a producer explains.
I get back up. “Ah, can you grab your purse, you had your purse when you sat down.”
I crack up. This is fucking hilarious. Reality television my ass. I grab my purse, stand back up by Garver and then sit back down. I put my head in my hands and start laughing. Yup, this is really happening. Much to my dismay I am not dreaming or hallucinating.
“So now what?” I ask Garver. “Do you not want to do this? Because it seems like you don’t and I don’t want you to give me tattoo you don’t want to do, cuz then it really won’t come out.”
Garver looks me square in the eye from the drawing board. “No, I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to do this at all.”
There it is. The giant curveball. The phetasy. I knew it was lurking somewhere on the horizon. This kind of thing is typical. It can never just be simple. The very thing that makes me such great material for reality television is making it impossible for them to use me. I laugh. I love it.
Just then, Nuñez enters. The good cop. Right on cue.
“Do you want to do this one? “ Garver asks Nuñez.
“Ah..no, I have my own shit to do,” he says, but he goes to Garver to try to help him out with the tracing. “Whoa, this is tough,” he notes after a few lousy attempts. He grabs the design and comes over to the bench to point out all of the difficult practical aspects of my tattoo and tries to convince me to alter the design slightly. The cameras are all over us. “Maybe if you put these half-crescents over the circles to break them up….”
“Honestly, if anyone says they can do that tattoo, they just want your money. I would never do this tattoo. If you really want me to, I will, but it won’t be good.” Garver interrupts.
“Yeah, and none of us want to do it on camera because it won’t come out perfectly and it will make us look bad.” Nuñez continues. I gotta hand it to him, he’s not the brightest color in the tat, but at least he’s honest.
“Awesome. So why am I here again?” I ask.
Enter Ami, tat-covered torso dripping with sweat. I wonder how much that is going for on Ebay. He picks up on the tension. “What’s going on,” he asks.
“No on wants to do my tattoo,” I explain. “Garver says it’s impossible.” Nuñez shows Ami the design and the two of them confer. “Whoa that is tough,” Ami gives the tracing a shot. Ami notes, stating the obvious, “It’s 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 perfect circles. And it’s perfectly symmetrical! There is no way that is going to look like it does on paper. You need a surface on the body that is perfectly flat…”
“Which on the human body does not exist…Right. I get it.” I say.
“It’s impossible,” Garver says. Ami and Nuñez nod their heads in agreement.
“Nothing is impossible….” I mutter under my breath, resting my elbows on my knees and putting my head in my hands. Other than dealing with egomaniacs.
That day on my way to the show, I have a little chat with myself about what I will and will not do. I know very little about tattoos, seeing as I have none, and obviously there are things I am going to trust the artist’s opinion about. I am willing to bend on the location of the tattoo and even make very slight modifications to the design. I also accept that a perfectly symmetrical design is obviously going to have some imperfections when it is put on a perfectly human body. And despite the previous Miami Ink concern that it might be too “simple,” I have a feeling the design will be difficult, because I’ve drawn and traced it myself a hundred times, I realize that I might end up having to make some compromises, which is ok within reason.
But impossible to ink? Nope. I didn’t see that one comin’. That seems a bit extreme. It never occurs to me that this tattoo might be “impossible.” I’ve never even heard of such a thing.
Can’t you use the circle stencil?” Ami asks.
“I tried,” Garver replies. “I can’t even trace it with that. ”
“Don’t you have any other tools?” I ask.
“Like what?” Garver says.
“Like--a compass?” I condescendingly reply. There aren’t enough cameras in the room to keep up with us.
“Look, I’ve haven’t slept in 24-hours, you don’t want me to do this tattoo.” He explains.
Oh that’s just fuckin’ great. That’s like my surgeon, coming in as he is about to cut me open, saying, ‘Hey! I’ve been on a 3-day coke bender and haven’t slept a wink! Scalpel….’
“Is anyone going to do this tattoo?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
No. It appears that no one is willing to ink me unless I want some gay design they can freehand. At this point I am losing my patience. Losing my patience with the artists, losing my patience with their rudeness and unprofessional behavior, losing my patience with the constant re-takes and losing my patience trying to figure out what the fuck is going on.
The three of them huddle. They each take a stab at tracing it, to no avail. It’s comical, the three of them, trying to trace little OON, ripping off a piece of paper, starting to trace it and then scrunching it up in ball and throwing it on the floor. I never realized until that moment how much I love the sound of tracing paper being crumpled. They look like three frustrated chimps trying to write their first novel.
“See, it contains almost all of the most technically difficult shapes to tattoo.” Ami says as he points at my design. Obviously I know what shapes the design contains since I came up with the frickin’ thing. “See,” Ami says, “I bet you couldn’t draw that if I asked you to just draw it freehand.”
“No,” I say. I want to say: This isn’t about me fuckface. This is apparently about 3 massive egos that are taking a beating right now by a simple little tattoo design. And this isn’t my fucking job buddy--it’s yours. I might not be able to draw it freehand, but I bet I can fucking trace it. I am beginning to wonder what other pathetic excuses they are going to throw out there at my expense to justify the fact that they can’t trace a circle.
All I can muster is, “I thought you guys like a challenge.” I am amused. Slightly. I am defeated--for the moment. I don’t want this tattoo any more than Garver wants to do it. I just want them all to shut up so I can get out of there.
“Yeah, an artistic challenge, not a technical one.” Garver says.
Ami sits down in front of me, positioning himself for the cameras, bringing one leg up on a stool like he has a little bit of Cap’n in him. He begins his spiel on a tattoo artist’s code of ethics.
“Garver is one of the best tattoo artists in the world. He will do your tattoo, but it won’t come out well and he doesn’t want to give you a tattoo you don’t like. He’s a perfectionist and just doesn’t want to give you something that isn’t….perfect,” he says. He says a bunch of other crap too, but I tune him out about half way through his speech.
“Ok, I respect that. I just want to go on a walk to think about this,” I say. “I don’t even want to do this anymore.”
They make me do three takes of saying “I just want to go take a walk and think” before they realize I am about to lose it. I walk out of the store three times. The producer scurries over to me as I walk out the door on the last take.
“Look, I just need to take a walk. I don’t know if you guys are just trying to fuck with my head, but I don’t appreciate it. I don’t want to do this anymore at all. The energy in there sucks.” I tell her.
She is very apologetic. “No, no, no,…this has never happened before. We’re so sorry. You have every right to be upset. I would be furious if I were you. I don’t blame you for not wanting to do it.”
Of course it hasn’t happened before. I am beginning to think maybe I should get Exception to the Rule tattooed on my ass while I’m in Miami. I am Dorothy and am in the Land of Oz. Garver is the Cowardly Lion. Nuñez the Tin Man, and Ami, of course, Scarecrow.
The Wizard, also know as the executive producer, comes out from behind the curtain. He introduces himself and shakes my hand. He apologizes for all of the confusion. He is a very nice man who puts me at ease. He apologizes again profusely for the situation. He says he understands that I am uncomfortable. I say no problem; I’m just wondering what’s up with the incompetence. Why am I down here if my tat is impossible? Well, the nice man tells me, apparently, Mr. Chris Garver himself approved the artwork on July 30th and now he is claiming amnesia. What a pussy.
“Can we just get an interview with you outside,” he asks.
“Sure,” I say. Whatever, at this point I will do what it takes to get my $100 dollar deposit back.
“So, tell us how you feel right now…” one of the producers says.
“I’m just frustrated with them…I respect Garver’s…..” I start.
“Ah, hold on, there is a bus going by,” the sound guy says. I roll my eyes. This is insane.
“Ok…now, what are you thinking right at this moment?” they ask me again.
“Well….” I start. People are starting to gather around to watch.
“Actually, can we move her over to that side,” one of the camera men asks the producer, “I think it will be better for the shot.”
“Oh my God,” I say.
“Sorry,” says the producer, “This is a highly irregular shoot,” she explains. “We never do these street interviews for this reason. So again, what are you feeling? Oh, and try to refer to the artist directly instead of ‘the guys’ and keep looking right at me,” she reminds me.
“I respect that Garver does not want to give me a bad tattoo,” I start. “And if he doesn’t feel that he can execute it, I appreciate his honesty. I’m just frustrated because I don’t know why this didn’t come up before.” I look down. I look back up and the producer is pointing her index and middle finger at my eyes and then her eyes, signaling for me to continue making eye contact with her. I feel ridiculous. I am a joke. I realize in that moment why Garver hates his life. “And…” Right then, an Escalade drives by bumpin’ Timberlake’s ‘Sexyback’.
“Hold on, hold on…” the producers and sound guys say. “Did we get anything?” They are radioing into command central. “No? Ok, one more time…”
I am dying laughing at this point. Any bit of anger or frustration that they might have been able to capture in the interview, has evaporated. By the time they finally get what they want, I don’t mean a Goddamn thing that I say.
“Are we done here?” I ask. I am desperate to get away.
They seem slightly desperate too. If I walk and Garver refuses to do the tattoo, they have essentially wasted an entire day of shooting for basically nothing. Heads roll for that shit in television. There is another consultation that day, but no other tatttoos. My producer mentions at this point, they are even willing to tattoo PHETASY on my body instead of the logo.
“Ah no.” I say without hesitation. I might be crazy, but I’m not fucking stupid.
"Can you turn me off?" I say, referring to my mic.
"Oh, yeah, of course," she says, and turns me off.
“Think about it,” she says. “Go for a walk, take as long as you need.” And then, in typical reality TV fashion, “But don’t go for too long,” she quickly adds followed by a nervous laugh.
In my mind I cut to: me, walking away, shaking my head and laughing hysterically...
Article Series
This article is part 3 of a 4 part series. Other articles in this series are shown below:
-
MIAMI INK: Part One: Back-Story: The Facts
-
MIAMI INK: Part Two: Characters: The Personalities
-
MIAMI INK: Part Three: Action: The Twist
-
MIAMI INK: Part Four: Resolution: The Confessional
3 Responses to "MIAMI INK: Part Three: Action: The Twist" 
|
|
|
Author/Admin)
