Why Tattoo Parlors Don't Have Windows

I've never been pierced, never gotten inked.

But like you, I've been thinking about it. The days of the N.B.P.N.G.I. are numbered.

I've been debating, for a couple years now, whether or not I wanted to join my quasi-independent brethren and make a permanent outward display of my lifestyle.

Piercings are out. I thought about getting one of those mind-boggling genital apparatuses, but I don't think there's any reason to make things more complicated in that department.

But a tasteful "tat," some elegant "ink" could be an attractive form of self-expression.

There are a number of stipulations, however.

First, It would be mandatory that all who refer to tattoos or the act of tattooing in my presence discard the yuppie/hipster/insufferable words for it. There's absolutely no reason to shorten a two-syllable word.

These awful terms roll off the tongue like reading a restraining order backwards. The foresight it takes to use them in place of the natural root word is painfully clear to the listener, who will soon no longer fit that description.

Also, The parlor keeper would not be allowed to have any interest in turning the process into a sexual situation.

"Yes, sir/ma'am, I'm well aware that you're shooting a thin liquid with permanently life-altering potential into my skin, but I fail to see the connection to ... Ohhh, well I ..."

That's when I do a jackknife out the nearest window.

Third, I would have to find a place on my body that not everybody gets tattooed. For example, I had pondered getting a word along the top of my right bicep. The word was "Truth," if it means anything to anyone. I liked the idea, I liked the location, and I believe in Truth the way some people believe in God.

Then I watched that abhorrent piece of cinematic compost, "Boondock Saints," and realized that one of the lead "actors" had "Veritas" - Latin for "Truth" - on his trigger finger, of all conceivable locales. If I had already gotten that tattoo, upon viewing I would have flayed myself from right earlobe to right hipbone to remove all trace.

I will not get a tattoo to make a statement. As I've stated many times before, I'm not hardcore, I'm not badass, and therefore I have no reason to prove it. I won't get some old-English lettering down my forearm to make people believe it. Neither will I apply some moniker to my stance on drug and alcohol use that would make me a part of a group whose militancy approaches that of a racial unity/supremacy group.

I have no palpable ties to any nationality, city, religion or anything else that would push me to get one of those go-to iconic tattoos.

The trick is to come up with something that looks good, has some sort of non-aesthetic significance, and is fitting to one's personality as a whole. I could get some sort of band on my arm, it would look cool, and it would fit my woefully alpha-male persona. It just wouldn't "mean" anything.

When people talk about tattoos, that word comes up a lot.

"It has to mean something," people have told me, emphatically.

"What is it supposed to mean?" people have asked condescendingly when I've mentioned an idea.

The truth is that meaning alone is irrelevant. I could get a black sheep crying a fountain pen tear stamped on my butt, and that sure would mean something. It'd be right there, the meaning, for all to see and say, "Now that, that one means something." But it wouldn't mean anything different on my butt than it would on anyone else's.

Significance is more than a self-evident metaphor. Metaphors are overrated anyway.

I've decided if I get one, it'll be the sort of thing I never tell anyone about. I won't write anything about it once I get one. It will be the sort of thing people stumble across realizing, like my usual pre-meal drink order, or the quality of my driver's license photo.

If I get a tattoo only my closest friends will really understand or know about it. I won't do it to look the part, but to help explain myself to those who might have asked without a visual cue.