Post by Deleted on Nov 16, 2014 23:24:19 GMT
"I'm not letting you get the words 'gay baby' tattooed on your knuckles."
A dejected Dennis Driver, bundled up nice and warm in his old UConn hockey sweats for a freezing November morning in Hartford, shrugs his shoulders near the entrance of the tattoo parlor.
"Why not?"
"Are you even gay?"
The tattoo artist is a man named Dmitri, operating out of a hole in a wall called "Dmitri's Tattoo." Most of Dennis's friends in Hartford are pretty straight-laced corporate types. He found out about the tattoo parlor on Yelp.
The heat's cranked up in this place, which allows Dmitri to show off his ornate tattoo sleeves and his skinny old man muscles with a tanktop. He's probably in his 40s and he speaks with a bit of an accent.
"Well, no."
"Are you a baby? You don't look like a baby."
"Nah. I'm 27."
"You're straight and you're 27. So how are you a gay baby?"
Dennis takes a second to think.
"Sometimes a man is more than the sum of his parts?"
Dmitri shakes his head.
"Jesus. You know, I don't like giving people tats they'll hate, like girlfriends' names and stuff. Some young kid came in here the other day, wanted me to tattoo his girl's face on his chest."
"How long were they together?"
"Six months! Make it to a year before you tell me to do that."
Dennis smirks a bit.
"Those are house rules?"
"If I told people they can't get dumb tacky shit on their bodies I'd be out of business. But come on. No 'gay baby.'"
"Yo, I've got a pen and paper. I'll sign a gay baby contract."
He continues talking as he scribbles on his crumpled-up China King menu.
"You probably don't know this, but I'm a pro wrestler. I got a gig down in New York City. So when I punch those scrubs in the face it's gonna be gay-baby-gay-baby."
Dmitri has had weirder people in this joint - but not too many. Dennis is 5'8", his sweats are three sizes too big and his posture is atrocious. No way he fights people for a living. Dmitri's first guess was "high student."
Above the long list of combos on the Chinese menu, the "gay baby contract" reads "I'M FUCKIN WITH YA." Dmitri holds his arms outstretched and shakes his head.
"The hell are you doing, man?"
"I'm fuckin' with ya, of course."
Dmitri is visibly frustrated, by now, with his customer's endless and aimless "banter."
"If you don't want a tattoo, please leave."
"I do want a tattoo! But it's really dumb and basic. Just the year 2007 on my wrist."
2007: about the time when everyone believed in Dennis and Dennis believed in himself. He has the radio highlights of that year of college hockey saved to his iPod. Every once in a while, he'll fall asleep to the sounds of his own triumphs. And the Huskies have done it! What an upset! Dennis Driver, three assists and the game-winner! Even as he memorizes the commentator's exact words, the moments start to lose their specificity.
"Can't be worse than gay baby knuckles. Why 2007? You win the big title fight?"
Dennis spares him some melodrama.
"It was a good year. It was just a good year."
A dejected Dennis Driver, bundled up nice and warm in his old UConn hockey sweats for a freezing November morning in Hartford, shrugs his shoulders near the entrance of the tattoo parlor.
"Why not?"
"Are you even gay?"
The tattoo artist is a man named Dmitri, operating out of a hole in a wall called "Dmitri's Tattoo." Most of Dennis's friends in Hartford are pretty straight-laced corporate types. He found out about the tattoo parlor on Yelp.
The heat's cranked up in this place, which allows Dmitri to show off his ornate tattoo sleeves and his skinny old man muscles with a tanktop. He's probably in his 40s and he speaks with a bit of an accent.
"Well, no."
"Are you a baby? You don't look like a baby."
"Nah. I'm 27."
"You're straight and you're 27. So how are you a gay baby?"
Dennis takes a second to think.
"Sometimes a man is more than the sum of his parts?"
Dmitri shakes his head.
"Jesus. You know, I don't like giving people tats they'll hate, like girlfriends' names and stuff. Some young kid came in here the other day, wanted me to tattoo his girl's face on his chest."
"How long were they together?"
"Six months! Make it to a year before you tell me to do that."
Dennis smirks a bit.
"Those are house rules?"
"If I told people they can't get dumb tacky shit on their bodies I'd be out of business. But come on. No 'gay baby.'"
"Yo, I've got a pen and paper. I'll sign a gay baby contract."
He continues talking as he scribbles on his crumpled-up China King menu.
"You probably don't know this, but I'm a pro wrestler. I got a gig down in New York City. So when I punch those scrubs in the face it's gonna be gay-baby-gay-baby."
Dmitri has had weirder people in this joint - but not too many. Dennis is 5'8", his sweats are three sizes too big and his posture is atrocious. No way he fights people for a living. Dmitri's first guess was "high student."
Above the long list of combos on the Chinese menu, the "gay baby contract" reads "I'M FUCKIN WITH YA." Dmitri holds his arms outstretched and shakes his head.
"The hell are you doing, man?"
"I'm fuckin' with ya, of course."
Dmitri is visibly frustrated, by now, with his customer's endless and aimless "banter."
"If you don't want a tattoo, please leave."
"I do want a tattoo! But it's really dumb and basic. Just the year 2007 on my wrist."
2007: about the time when everyone believed in Dennis and Dennis believed in himself. He has the radio highlights of that year of college hockey saved to his iPod. Every once in a while, he'll fall asleep to the sounds of his own triumphs. And the Huskies have done it! What an upset! Dennis Driver, three assists and the game-winner! Even as he memorizes the commentator's exact words, the moments start to lose their specificity.
"Can't be worse than gay baby knuckles. Why 2007? You win the big title fight?"
Dennis spares him some melodrama.
"It was a good year. It was just a good year."
