If you would have told me three weeks ago that I would be sitting in a tattoo parlor I would say you were crazy. I have always hated needles. My brother had a tattoo while in the army, but it never entered my mind that one day I would have needles in my arm.
If I could explain to you what changed my mind about tattoos and or being tattooed, I would but in all honesty I can't explain it myself. One day, just driving down the road it came to me I think I want a tattoo, but not just something off the wall. The search was on.
I spent hours, searching the web for just the right piece of work and not really knowing what I was looking for. I spent days going to different parlors all over Phoenix looking at the flash art well it was looking me right in the face. Once more back searching the web. Once again it hit me the "Phoenix itself - bird of fire"! And what better than the best city in the west and a myth as old as time to go along with. But the search was not over it had to be just right; three nights later the elusive bird was found. Now to find just the right parlor, as one can't be too careful.
As luck would have it one of my many supervisors has a great number of tattoos and pointed me to Hotrod tattoo of Chandler. The next day I went to Hotrod tattoo - it was unlike any tattoo parlor Id ever seen it looked more like my doctors office. With the waiting room in front and five or six rooms in back, none of which you could see from the waiting room. I showed the basic Phoenix to John Martin - he would have to add detail to it and the color needed some work but the basic shape was right he than asked were I was planning to place it, I told him my upper right arm He said that was the best place for a first timer. He then asked if Saturday night would work I said it was perfect. He made my appointment Saturday night at 7pm. I spent the next two days driving myself crazy.
Saturday night 6:30pm - time to shit or get off the pot. It only took ten minutes to get there. I was early, but that was ok - it gave some more time to drive myself nuts. Almost right at 7, my artist John Martin called my name. I followed him into one of the back rooms. He showed me the Phoenix - it was perfect in every detail; the colors black, red, orange and yellow went together perfectly. John explained that it would take two hours. He then asked me stand up - he wetted my skin with A&D, placed the paper making sure to get it just right, then very carefully removed it. John asked me to look in the mirror to see if it was in the right place. It was, so he asked me sit back down. John prepared all of the tools he'd be using, he told me that he start with small lines then move faster later. I prepared myself for the pain. John started [tattooing and] the pain- no, the discomfort- was no more than a burning scratch. After the first ten minutes the discomfort was almost nothing at all. By the time John was done, I was watching the TV in the upper corner of the room. When it was done John once more asked me to stand up, I looked it in the mirror for the first it looked even better then in did on paper. I gave John the 'ok' - he then bandaged it up, gave me a piece paper with aftercare instruction and a tube of A&D.
It has now been two weeks and the tattoo has healed up great. I've got nothing but good reactions from everyone I've shown it, but God help me when I show my parents- they will be burning up. I will then know what 'up out of the ashes' means!
-Steven Mayo
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