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Overcoming your fears on the way to your first tattoo

I have a fear of needles. Just thought I’d get that admission out of the way early. Needles, mostly. My own blood, too. That’s why I didn’t do this little experiment myself. And why I chose someone else to get their first ever tattoo done by the capable hands of Nick Colella down at Chicago Tattoo and Piercing Company (1017 W. Belmont).

When I asked a table full of people if anyone wanted to get inked for the sake of journalism, my friend Meredith was the only one whose hand went in the air. Her friends were sure she’d back out, but a month later, with a few glasses of liquid courage in her, Meredith claimed she was ready. Her good friend Carrie came along for support — whether it was support for me or Meredith, I’m not sure.

If your idea of a tattoo parlor is a grimy spot housing a bunch of people in leather off an alley somewhere in a shady part of town, Chicago Tattoo is quite the contrary. The place is brightly lit, the artists and hosts are helpful and friendly, and it’s so clean you could eat dinner off the floor. Meredith, it seemed, took an immediate liking to my choice, but there was a problem. She flipped through pages upon pages of Buddhas, Indians, dragons and clowns. Then it was on to Chinese symbols, waves, flames and tigers. Nothing piqued her interest.

“I need to find my starfish,” she said.

“Excuse me?” I asked.

“My starfish,” she repeated. “A symmetrical one, but wavy, with black suction cups. For the top of my foot. Do you want to know the story behind the starfish?”

“No, that’s OK,” I exclaimed with a smile, only deciding later that it was a little harsh. I just thought her choice would be something a little more, well, tattoo worthy.

So the three of us continued to flip through pages upon pages of options. It was a little overwhelming. We found a sweet-looking turtle, American flags, a dolphin playing a guitar, naked women and the seven dwarves.

“You could get one or two of the dwarves on your foot,” said Carrie.

While I thought about pushing for Sleepy or Dopey, Meredith’s mind was on something else — like the pulsating tattoo needle roaming someone’s skin in the background. “That sound, can I just say right now, is freaking me out,” she said, her eyes as wide as Dopey’s.

And with that, we moved on to the computer, asking Google to locate our starfish, a symmetrical one, but wavy, with black suction cups. Surprisingly, it didn’t take long to find what she was looking for, so we moved to the back and began peppering Nick with questions while he traced the design.

Have you ever had people pass out?

“Oh yeah,” he said. “There’s really no rhyme or reason why though. Usually if they haven’t eaten, it can happen. Or if they hold their breath.”

Is the top of the foot the most painful place?

“No, I think the armpit would be pretty bad,” he said.

“How bad is it going to hurt?

“It burns a little, but it’s not bad,” he said. “You don’t really have anything to compare it to.”

In a matter of minutes, Nick had the starfish traced, the colors mixed and was ready to go. And so was Meredith. To the bathroom, that is. Must have been the nerves. And the sangria.

She returned, and almost immediately began sweating. She claimed even her foot was sweating, like it knew what was coming or something. Nick mentioned that the top of the foot is quite a popular spot these days, which helped calm her a little. As he planted the tracing on her foot and reached for his equipment, I grabbed the camera and told her to look nervous. “That’s not hard,” she barked.

Carrie helped add a little tension by deadpanning this gem: “How many times have you had the needle go through the other side?” That got laughs from us and a weak smile from Meredith, who asked if there would be any bloodshed.

“There may be a little,” Nick said in a reassuring voice. “Not much, but it is puncturing the skin.”

Her breathing quickened. “I’m all talk, all talk, all talk,” Meredith uttered as the tattooing began. “Oh God, this really hurts,” she said, tightening her grip on the sides of the table.

Carrie and I rolled our eyes, but wanting to help her relax, Nick asked where she served as a physical therapist.

“Oh, I’ve played that game before,” she laughed, having caught on to his bid to distract her by way of conversation. “I can’t believe you have these all over your body, because I feel like I want to be done, and it’s only been like a minute.”

Actually, it had been less than that. Far less.

Later, Meredith’s kung-fu grip on the padded table was beginning to leave marks as the tattoo was now completely outlined in black.

“Just think, you’ve only got another hour or so to go and we’ll be out of here,” I said, getting an approving smirk from Nick. “Pretty soon you’ll become numb to it.”

“God, you’re sweating up a storm,” Carrie pointed out, laughing hard while handing her a kleenex.

“What was I thinking?” Meredith asked to no one in particular as the needle buzzed at the outline of her starfish. I could almost hear her teeth grinding.

“Does it hurt worse than a bikini wax?” Carrie asked. “Worse than that time when you tried to do it yourself?”

Laughs all around. “You remember ...”

“Wait, Trent, don’t put that in your story,” Meredith pleaded.

“No worries, I won’t,” I assured her.

Pretty soon, Nick turned to shading the starfish with an orangish-red color.

“Oh no, the shading is what really hurts,” Meredith moaned.

“No, actually it’s the opposite,” Nick said without looking up from his work “You’re through the tough part. You’re good.”

Meredith wiped the sweat from her forehead. The anxiety was leaving her body, albeit slowly. And before we had time to crack another joke, Nick was cleaning the new addition to her body and applying a bandage, informing her of how to take care of it in the coming days and weeks. There was no IV tube needed and no blood to be found, and on the top of her pedicured foot was a “cute” little orange starfish. She loved it. She was ecstatic. She was smiling a real smile, not the nervous kind we’d seen all night.

On the way out, I asked Nick how he thought she did in her first visit to a tattoo parlor.

“You were a little more dramatic than you needed to be, but you did OK,” he said with a smile. “Pretty average, I’d say. It’s all about getting over the fear of the unknown.”

“How many of your first-time customers come back?” I asked.

“All of ’em,” Nick said with a confident grin, leaning over the counter. “You’ll be back.”

Meredith winced, offering a look of uncertainty at the thought of going through it again.

“And then you can get the dolphin playing the guitar,” I said.

“I’m not gettin’ the dolphin,” she replied. “I just have to figure out how I’m going to tell my mom. She’s going to kill me.”

Trent Modglin
Publisher
The Real Chicago
Trent@TheRealChicago.org

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