I hate commercials in the down time. Lexi resplendent new and bound in ribbon, toys made cheaply with prices not corroborative and husband after husband gifting shill wife after shill wife with diamonds foisted from a country bleeding to death due to western necessity and materialism. Most of me wants nothing to do with this crap but a part of me loves the idea of presenting family members with cars larger than necessary, overpriced and unfunctional toys and stones with no real value beyond the one presented to us by companies gaining through oppression. I'm American and so even though I resist this sensory assault I sure wish I could afford to take part. I have a feeling that if I was fiscally capable I still wouldn't but to be able and not is different than being too poor to partake.
At A Glance Author Aric Davis Contact [email protected] When Five years ago Artist Me. Studio Mos Eisleys Location Grand Rapids, Michigan It's three weeks from Christmas and I'm broke, like dead broke and for what? Three more shops opened up in the last month and not a single one is worth a shit. I'd kill to be the worst piercer in town instead of being the best and going broke because of fucking carpetbaggers horning in on an industry they know nothing of. It's criminal to care so much for what you do and be so good at it just to have it all made irrelevant by some piece of shit using impure metal in a dirty environment with no training. Beat me because you're better and I'll never complain, beat me because you're cheaper and you're breaking my heart. I keep at this job for other people and because I'm terrified to do anything else. I have no passion anymore for something that has enriched my life as much as my daughter does and unlike the love I'll always have for her my love for modification and the industry surrounding it is dead because of money.
A few years ago I took up cooking as a hobby and after catering a wedding and helping friends host other like minded gatherings I had people asking me on a daily basis when I was going to start work as a chef. Never was my constant answer, piercing professionally has killed a passion already and I don't want to kill another. Not that piercing isn't doing a fine job of squashing that bug on its own merits, it's been months since I had the money to make a good home cooked meal for my family, haute or otherwise. I think of all the people whose lives I've positively affected because they got good professional work and advice from me even if I was uninvolved with their original piercing and who were unappreciative and of the two careers I've launched for others asking nothing in return, monetary or otherwise and I wonder why I bother. People are making good money with a lot less love and talent than I have for modification. In doing so they ruin someone who may have someday become enthusiastic for the hobby had their first job not been so botched and they rob a good practitioner of this work of both a current customer and a future one as well. That makes no mention of the hard healing, scarring and potentially life threatening diseases they dole out with crooked and improperly placed dirty work.
I don't want you to think I'm big headed, there are many body piercers and scarification artists with more talent than me and I take my hat off to those people. I'll make my head cold as well for all those who are not as good as me but still charge a fair price, use good jewelry/techniques and always try to better themselves. I've never said once that I've done a perfect piercing and I've done over one hundred thousand of them; good chance I never will. The only perfection I want is looking at it on you, thinking that it sits right and having you smile at me and mentioning that it makes you happy. I'm used to not getting tips, working an eight-hour shift for no money, dealing with smelly rude people and drinking too much when its all done. What I'm utterly unable to wrap myself around is you coming to see me, telling me what you want, approving of the markings and then when all is said and done saying you don't like the work. One woman questioned why she should pay me for the job when she was unhappy with how the piercing looked on her face and my response was as chipper as I could manage.
"You liked the marks right?"
"Yes..."
"And we hit those marks?"
"Yes..."
"So what don't you like about it?"
"I don't know."
"But you're unhappy enough that you don't think you should pay for it?
"Yes."
"Did I show you the jewelry?"
"Yes."
"So what don't you like?"
"I don't know."
"It might take time to get used to..."
"Ooh I don't know, I just don't see why I should have to pay when I'm not happy."
"What are you unhappy with, is there anything I could have done to have made this smoother for you?"
"No you did a great job, I just don't like it. Can I talk to a manager?"
"You are. I can get an owner for you?"
"That sounds great."
So I did and he backed up my line of thinking. The sick thing is that I don't think she was trying to run a scam at all, she just didn't see why she should have to pay when we did everything she asked and she still wasn't happy. Had I sold her tainted food I'd get it but what belies this kind of thinking? Some of you people I'll never understand, I can't prevent your insecurity about yourselves. It's like asking for money back on a perfect haircut bitch; you said short.
A similar situation arose from a couple but in this case the finances were fine. Same time period as the past one just a different year and the monetary situation on my end was similar; I'd endured another day of no work. The situation seemed normal enough, happy husband wanted to buy nipple piercings for the wife and she was game. Might sound weird to a normal person but in a line of work where I actively screen forced situations as best possible this one was as normal as boob adornment for Christmas could ever be. They did paperwork and we went to the prepared room. She removed her shirt and lay prone on the table as I prepared supplies and the three of us made small talk, her breasts had been augmented and quite obviously so to someone like me who is paid to notice. The job was clean and without much scarring but still clear enough through matching scars to a trained eye. I cleaned the tissue and made marks to verify symmetry, both for them and myself. That done she stood and they were pleased so she returned to the table. This is where the issues began, with jewelry. Female nipple piercings pose a unique difficulty in that if one is using a post or barbell to do the job than said post needs to contain a diameter slightly longer than the actual length of the piercing. I explained this as I always do and showed the length of the pieces of steel in relation to the presumed distance of the piercings on calipers when the male of the group interrupted the normal discussion being held by the woman and I.
"Those are too long, they don't fit her tits at all."
I explained in as nice of tone as possible at this point once again exactly why they needed to be fitted in such a way.
"
You're trying to rip me off."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean you're saying I have to buy this shit now and then after six months of my wife's tits looking fucked up I have to spend more money just so they finally look right?"
"No, what I'm saying is that if you want your wife's piercings to heal correctly they need to be done with proper jewelry."
She interrupted our repor:
"Let's just go honey, your getting angry and I don't want you to take it out on this guy."
"I'm fine with the situation, I'm just trying to rationalize my reasoning."
"My husband can get violent, we need to leave before that happens."
I looked at this useless piece of man with his store bought wife and her store bought tits, and for one of the only times in my career I was aghast. I'm not a tough guy but unless this trumped up pile of shit had a gun there's no way he's going to thrash me and then six co-workers on his way out. Yet they both seemed to believe they could just physically threaten people. The pair left after she dressed without incident aside from him calling me a con man. I hurt my hand punching a wall; it was December 19th.
This kind of crap always happens before Christmas, when even my veins are running with dreams of green instead of red. Unfortunately December is the month least likely for one to spend selfish moneys on things like piercings and instead to furnish Debeers and its fellow rackets with the necessary cash to continue functioning. Twelve years in and I still hate Decembers, someday I hope to enjoy
Christmas again but not while I'm working a commission only job for a pay scale that diminishes to nothing as the days close on the holiday. The grand finale is the week before the big day, more than once I've spent that time working my shifts for no money. On one of those occasions a co-worker and I (who is now my brother in law) left work early on Christmas Eve and pooled our money for comestibles resulting in a purchase of two thirty packs of very cheap beer. Christmas arrived bleary and earlier than necessary but the combined income spent did take some of the holiday edge off, regardless it's not a stunt I've needed to pull since. I guess I'm not as broke as I used to be.