I'm a black rainbow, and I'm an ape of god
I've got a face that's made for violence upon it
I'm a teen distortion, survived abortion
A rebel from the waist down
I wanna thank you Mom, I wanna thank you Dad
For bringing this fucking world to a bitter end
I never hated your one true god
But the god of the people I hated
~ Marilyn Manson
Argh! My Teenaged Fan Club took it up a notch on Saturday. The little fuckers.
At the sound of the door chiming, I came out of the office that stands behind the front counter and discovered the three of them waiting at my desk. “Good morning, boys,” I said pleasantly.
“Good morning,” they said in unison.
“What can I do for you today?” I said when they didn’t offer anything else.
“I am here for my TAAAAAttoo,” said the tallest one.
“Oh right,” I nodded uber-professionally. “You were going to bring me $1,500 today. Or was it Euros?”
“Ah, yes,” he nodded too. “My bank card wasn’t working this morning. Ah ha, ha.”
“That’s too bad,” I commiserated. “Well, maybe tomorrow.”
They picked up some tattoo magazines and started humming and haaing over the pictures inside. “Yes, I like this one,” the shorter black kid said as he leafed through the pages of gorgeous tattooed girls. “And this one. And this one.”
They came across a page that showed twelve monthly covers of the magazine, all of which were girls in bikinis showing off their tattoos.
Their eyes bulged. “Is that you?” the muslim kid asked, pointing to a busty blond.
“No,” I shook my head.
“This one?” Another big boobed, tattooed girl.
“She’s that one,” the tall kid said, and pointed to a topless girl with black hair, covering her enormous boobs with her hands.
“Yeah, that’s me,” I snorted. “Anyway, guys, it’s always nice to see you, but I gotta get back to work.” And I motioned towards the door.
“Can I have a hug?” the shorter black kid asked.
The other two looked up expectantly. “Me too!”
“No, you cannot have a hug,” I said, exasperated.
“Why not?” Muslim kid asked.
“Because I can’t go around hugging teenaged boys,” I said. “I’ll get in trouble.”
“Okay, can I have a handshake, then?” Shorty asked me and held out his hand.
I moved out from behind the desk. “Yes, you can have a handshake,” I said and reached out to meet his outstretched hand.
As soon as my hand met his, he pulled me towards him, then threw his arms around me in a hug. I squeaked in protest and tried to pull away but then the other two stepped up and threw their arms around me too. The Muslim kid even had the bloody cheek to rest his head on my chest, right in my cleavage.
Eventually they let me go. I scurried back behind the desk and pointed to the door. “GoodBYE, boys,” I said.
They were busy giggling and high fiving each other. “Bye, Tattoo Girl,” they sang and pushed each other through the door.
I turned around to find my manager there, grinning at me. “There’s only so much of that that’s gonna happen,” she said pointedly.
“I know,” I said sheepishly, and she walked into the office again.
I heard a knocking and looked up. My Teenaged Fan Club was waving to me through the glass door.
I rolled my eyes and followed my manager back into the office in shamed silence.
The cheeky little fuckers. I can't believe they got me.