Tales From Exit 22 by Al Batt

He was giggling as if his underwear were made out of feathers.

It was good to see him happy.

He’d quit his job at the mirror company. He couldn’t see himself working there any longer. Then he was laid off at the Goodyear plant because of his tireless efforts.

There was something different about him. I couldn’t pinpoint it. Then I saw it. It was like the time when I’d wondered why a baseball was getting bigger and bigger. Then it hit me.

It was on his arm.

“You have a tattoo,” I blurted out more energetically than necessary.

“Yup. Got it two weeks after my father’s funeral.”

I thought he might have gotten the tattoo to take away the taste of despair after his father had joined the great majority.

“Did you get it to help you remember your father?” I asked. My tongue moved the question without asking my brain for comments. It was a stupid question. I’m sure he needed no assistance.

“No, I got it because up to then I was afraid of what my father would say if I got a tattoo. That would have been a red cape to a bull. He told me that I could get one when swine were airborne. I thought my getting a tattoo would have killed the old man. I felt that way even though my brain has nearly reached my head. When does a person get old enough to do what he pleases?”

“No one has lived that long,” I answered.

This man is an expert at wording questions, but he couldn’t ask his father about getting a tattoo.

I remember when he chewed tobacco in school. He favored Beech Nut. He kept getting kicked out of class for spitting into a cup hidden inside his desk. One day he was asked to leave study hall. He was told to go to the school’s office, where he’d be dealt with.

He marched right down to the principal’s office and said, “Mr. Kraupa, may I chew tobacco while I study?”

Mr. Kraupa growled, “No, you may not. That’s showing a disrespect for education.”

Not one to give up, he moved on to the school superintendent, Mr. Norswing, and asked, “Mr. Norswing, may I study while I chew tobacco?”

To which Mr. Norswing eagerly replied, “By all means, young man. By all means.”

The answer you get depends on how you ask the question.

“It’s a tattoo that grabs one’s attention,” I allowed.

“I had some extra money. Extra money is what I have right before my car breaks down or the roof begins to leak.”

“I have to ask you a question,” I said.

“Sure. What’s that?”

“What is that a tattoo of?” I asked. It looked like a wilted celery stick.

“It’s supposed to be an eagle.”

“Then why isn’t it?” I wondered aloud.

“I couldn’t afford to get the wings. I’ll add them later.”

“Did it hurt?” I continued to play a game of 20 questions.

“It did cause some discomfort. I had to wear one of those dog cone collars, an old lampshade, for a week to keep me from licking it.”

“Did you give getting a tattoo proper thought?” I asked.

“I thought a thought. But the thought I thought wasn’t the thought I thought I thought. If the thought I thought I thought had been the thought I thought, I wouldn’t have thought that thought. It seemed like the right thing to do.”

“How did you decide what kind of tattoo to get?” I was relentless in my questioning.

“Good question. I considered, ‘In case of an emergency, do not give broccoli’ and ‘What are you looking at?’ Then a sparrow landed nearby. It was a sign, but what kind of tattoo would a sparrow be? So I got an eagle.”

“Did you get the tattoo to make you appear younger?” I inquired.

“No.”

“Did you want to look more worldly?”

“No.”

“Then why?”

“I wanted to look like someone who had a tattoo.”

I don’t have a tattoo. I’ve considered getting a life-sized tattoo of a younger man, but I haven’t done so. A friend said that he’d get a tattoo only if it came with hair. His brother told him to never get a tattoo from an ex-brother-in-law. No matter what design you request, it will end up being “Kick me.” Another buddy got a tattoo that misspelled his girlfriend’s name. She still became his wife. She claims she has forgiven him, but she flushes the toilet whenever he takes a shower.

 

Hartland resident Al Batt’s columns appear every Wednesday and Sunday.