Page 4 of Scribbled Excellence

I should have stood on business at that moment and told her to get the fuck on. My ancestors, the Korean and Black ones, told me that this ho was on some good bullshit. I should have listened.

After I took her to the back room to show her the final piece, suddenly, she wanted the flames to change direction. Keep in mind, she received the design seventy-two hours prior to the appointment for approval. When I asked her where she wanted it and she told me, I stared at her for a good, strong minute.

The fuck did she mean she wanted the flames to now go around the front of her upper thigh into her crotch, up her pussy onto her stomach. Bitch, say what! That would require me to reconfigure the design, which could take up to an hour and a half. It would also require a price change. I hit her with the new price of $1,600 for the change in design and the sensitive, risqué place that she now wanted it to be. Once again, her ass didn’t blink. At least she wasn’t a broke ho.

She was fairly tatted, so I didn’t expect her ass to act like someone was killing her. She was the one that wanted a pussy tat. I could be thankful that the aroma of her pussy was pleasant. That shit didn’t matter, though, because I still wore my mask.

AtBridged Heart Tattoo Shop, it was policy that we wore masks when we tatted anything in risqué areas. Those areas were the ass, breasts, upper thigh, and pussy. My shop had all men, so we didn’t tat dicks. That was more to protect us than the client.

Another sign that her ass would be out of pocket during this appointment was when she told me that I didn’t have to wear a mask. When I told her that it was policy, her ass got an attitude. She had the unmitigated gall to say that she thought Koreans liked to give happy endings. I should have stood on business there too.

It baffled me how bold people could be with their words. In what universe did she think something like that was alright to say to someone. That was shit that you said to your homegirls over mimosas.

I made sure I put my headphones on the second I started the tattoo. I asked her a few questions about the pressure while I tatted her. Outside of that, we didn’t need to talk at all. I didn’t give a fuck about shit she had going on.

I’d been tatting since I was twenty years old. I always had a passion for drawing that I was convinced came from my auntie Danielle. She was a bomb graphic designer and muralist. She was the first one to recognize my talent at the tender age of twelve and nurture it. I came from a family of creatives on both sides.

My mother, Ji-Yeon Kim-Goings, and my grandmother, Mi-Kyung Kim, were both master seamstresses who co-ownedKim’s Alterations and Design. They both worked with needles like me, but in a different manner. My mother was also an art teacher.

My mother was the first generation Korean American in our family. My grandparents, Kim Hyun-Woo and Mi-Kyung Kim moved from Busan, South Korea in 1976 when my mother was two years old. They busted their asses to make a good life for my mother and eventually laid down roots in Augusta, Georgia, when she was seven years old.

My grandfather worked as an engineer while my grandmother worked at alterations shops and dry cleaners. What started with simple alterations for her customers, people around the neighborhood, and church turned into a full business. My grandparents embraced the American lifestyle while still staying connected to their Korean culture. Through language, food, tradition, and culture they instilled in my mother they were able to raise a well-rounded daughter.

I spoke and wrote fluent Korean thanks to them. It was because of that I had multiple Korean clients and gained more every week. I had clients who traveled far just to sit in my chair. That was a real honor.

“Whew, this shit hurts. You might have to kiss it to make it feel better after you finish,” chick said. She shifted slightly in the seat, which caused me to lift my needle.

I closed my eyes for a moment to find my words. “Yo, I’m gonna need you to stop making those kinds of comments. It’s giving parched and tacky. I’m not interested.”

Her head bucked back, but before she could respond, there was a light knock on the door. I knew that it was the receptionist, my cousin, Kara. I told her to come in. My tattoo chair faced away from the door.

She stuck her head in. Her hand slapped over her mouth because she knew my face of annoyance well. Once she had her giggles together, she spoke. “Rashad is out here. I told him you were in the middle of a tat.”

My smile was automatic. I loved my big cousin. “Tell him I’ll be out there in a second to see what’s up.”

Ole girl’s head popped up. “Oh, he can come in here. I don’t mind.”

I shook my head.Hot lava pussy ass girl!It made no damn sense. When Kara’s face contorted, I knew she was about to say something questionable. She never disappointed. “Oh okay. You’re cool with another person coming in here with your pussy out. Oh, wait, it’s Rashad Going. Desperate pussy always smells money.”

My head dropped as she closed the door. Ole girl didn’t say anything, but I could tell she felt a certain way that I didn’t give a fuck about. “You ready for me to continue, or you need a moment?”

She shook her head. “I’m good. You can keep going. The shit just hurts on the pussy. Is this going to stop me from fucking?”

Why, God!With a blank stare and bland tone, I answered. “I wouldn’t fuck until it’s healed. All of that will be included in the aftercare instructions.”

A strong knock rapped on the door before it opened. “Cousin, what’s up witcha?”

I stood then took one of my gloves off to dap him. “Ain’t too much, Cousin. What’s up witcha?”

“Shit, ain’t too much, like you said. I’m coming to check you out while I had some time and give you these shits.” He extended an envelope to me.

I sucked my teeth because I knew what it was. “Shad, I told you that you didn’t have to get these for me. I’ll get my own.”

“Why the fuck would I let my lil cousins buy season tickets to my games? You sound goofy. You act like I got a drove of cousins—hell, family. It’s a handful of y’all. I got a box that all y’all get in. Y’all act like I’m the only player that does this shit.” Rashad waved me off before he sat down.

I got a new glove to put on so that I could continue to work. I side-eyed him after I took my seat. “You gave Martin his tickets?”

“Here you go,” he responded with a roll of his eyes. “I didn’t give it to him personally. I left them at Unc Xavier’s.”