The Tale of Sunny Sid the Vicious Crab

This is the backstory for my first tattoo, the aptly named Sunny Sid the Vicious Crab.

 

Nonfiction writers utilize their linguistic talents to weave epic stories of iconic figureheads, detail fantastic accounts of the trials and triumphs of the every day man, and as happens to be the case of yours truly even spin yarns about not so incredible, though no less important, events of human history. I unfortunately have little skill in doing so, but nonetheless have a story to tell and will be damned if I don’t recount it!

Thus begins the tale of Sunny Sid the Vicious Crab…

As a child, I was informed that the “cute beauty mark” on my right shoulder blade had a high potential for inevitably causing my downfall. If not removed, it would most likely morph over time and become cancerous. They offered a simple, out-patient procedure in which to amend this to some degree or another and remove the hazardous tissue. Being as I was, under-age, yours truly had little say in the matter. My mother agreed to their course of action and that summer I went under the knife for the first time.

The following year, more bad news; while it was believed all of the dangerous cells had been physically removed, they had apparently fanned out somewhat more than was perceived at the time of the doctor’s initial undertaking. I was once again sentenced to go in for another round of treatment. This time however, there was a concession on my guardian’s part; I did not return to the doctor, with whom I was still quite furious and upon wished some horrible, dreadful things.

Another exasperating, local anesthetic-involving “surgery” and I was discharged with a clean bill of health and a scar nearly two inches in length across my back. How lovely!

        Over half a decade had passed with this physical reminder still lingering, which for the first four or five years, post-“op,” I could still feel sting and twitch from time to time. A very eerie nod, if I do say so, to what still has a potential to resurface and surprise me in the future.

        It wasn’t until recently that I began to consider, since the scar tissue was still very much visible, that I might as well take matters into my own capable hands for once and do something to at the very least mask this wonderful li’l pockmark. It was then that I decided to get my first tattoo.

        The most important aspect of this whole ordeal considered by yours truly, as with most things in my life, was that it be symbolic. This being said, the two foremost designs that came to mind were a smiling sun (skin cancer, caused by those lovely UV rays!) and a crab (which is the animal kingdom’s representative for the astrological sign Cancer. Har-har!)

Even after having collated, copied and even stapled my thoughts on paper, I was still worried somewhat about how others might react, should they ever catch a glimpse of what was destined to be a fine piece of body-art. Would they think I was stupid, a Gemini adorned with the symbol of the “wrong” Zodiac? Would someone question it and, given my reasoning, mock me for it? Would I think it’s stupid and mock myself for it in years to come? This is when it donned on me…

        Carpe-f*****g-diem!

It’s important to me now and whether or not I may feel that it is still twenty, fifty or a hundred years down the line is somewhat of a superfluous matter over which to get worked up. The fact of the matter is that any additions that I may choose to make essentially becomes just another part of me and is representation of my transition into the person I will inevitably become, which is what makes it valid and gives it its sense of importance.

        My second pilgrimage to the tattoo parlor, which was made with a wonderful, patient friend to whom I am seriously indebted, was when I bit the bullet, hopped in the chair and began to write the latest chapter of my life in very permanent ink.

        Mark, the gentleman who conducted the orchestra of buzzing needle guns played especially pour moi, was very patient and mellow throughout the entire process. A few stories were passed back and forth and laughs shared; I’d venture to say that a genuinely good time was had by all.

Prior to heading into the studio, when I inquired as to what he could most closely relate the feeling of the needle across one’s skin, he explained to me that it’s like licking a 9-volt battery and was blown away when I heaved a slight sigh of relief. I freely attested to actually having done that once or twice in the past and admitted that the analogy had indeed eased some of my worries. According to both he and his lovely associate, Jenny, I was the first female to cross the threshold of their fine establishment who fessed up to doing such a deed. If nothing else, we seemed to start off on the right foot with that.

What’s more, being that I had neglected to eat before venturing out to the shop, not entirely intending to settle into the hot seat just then, he even paused when I mentioned feeling light headed and allowed me to down a Pixie Stick from their complimentary candy dish before proceeding with his craft.

A true gent, he is! I truly enjoyed his practice and highly recommend him to any and all in the area that considering getting inked themselves.

While the decorum of one’s artist is of very high importance, you could very easily find the sweetest person you know and still wind up with a horrific tattoo. In this instant that sentiment, thankfully, couldn’t be further from the truth. 

I arrived, as mentioned, with ideas in hand and discussed my expectations with both Jenny and Mark. Specifics were thrown out, a few modifications made to the detail work and we were off.

It did indeed feel as though I were licking a 9-volt at first, just as I had been forewarned. After a few minutes however, the sensation was more akin still to dragging my tongue across an alkaline cartridge… while simultaneously having the blade of a knife just barely breaking skin and then proceeding to creep across my back. Even still, well worth it!

A little over an hour later, which includes the three minute-long breaks taken throughout, the masterpiece was complete and I was sent off with a smile and my new friend, Sunny Sid.

My companion and I then paid for our services, her new adornments having been affixed while I flipped through the artists’ flash books and contemplated making the jump, bid our farewells and were both told to come back soon.

I have already begun preparing for my next piece of body art and am just itching to work with Mark again. Sid could use a friend…