8/13/09 3 interactions

"Is that a white tattoo?" African-American male co-worker, early 20's, campus building, pointing to cutting (t-shirt was covering branding)

"No, it's a scarification."

"Scarif-what?"

"It's called scarification."

"I never seen anything like that! Did you do it yourself?"

"No, I went to a professional."

"How did he do it?"

"Well, she drew the design on with carbon paper, like for a tattoo, then traced the design lightly with a sterile x-acto blade, and for the circles she used a dermal punch. Then she rubbed a mixture of white tattoo ink and ash into the cuts, which I wore in a bandage for three days-"

"No way!"

"Way! After I removed the bandage, I'd very gently loofah off the scabs in the shower. You don't want the cut to heal, because irritation is what makes the scab and design." 

"Is this a new thing?"

"No, it originated in Africa and it's been around for thousands of years."

"Will it stay like that forever?"

"Depends on the person. I've had this for 11 years, and it's holding up pretty well. I've seen some disappear after a few months."

"That singer Seal has something like that."

"I think I read that Seal's scars were the result of a disease." (this prompts a debate, with several co-workers chiming in and a Google search to settle it, then another search for scarification, keloid vs. hypertrophic scarring, a discussion of his tattoos, and his plans following graduation.)

"That's some SWEET ink!" Female caucasian, early/mid 20's Red Line platform

"Thanks, I like yours too," I say, noticing several pieces on her forearms, "That's a beautiful shade of green."

"Thanks, but nothing like yours; did you do it here?"

"No, California."

"Me too."

"Where?"

"Bakersfield. You?"

"S.F."

"Yeah? Cool."

We talk about Ca. while waiting for the train. She just moved here last week for school. We discuss preparing for winter, settling into a new city, that blissful moment of realization that nothing is holding you to a place, and and how her room became available when the previous roommate got fired from his job at a smoothie shop and on a whim asked a carnival worker what it took to get a job on a midway (note to self: apparently it's REALLY EASY to run away with the carnival). 

"Hey, can I see your arm?" African-American male, mid/late teens, Red Line (very considerately waiting until I removed my earbuds).

(I extend my arm)

"How much did that cost you?"

"A friend did it, so it most of it was free."

"How long did it take?"

"We did most of it in about a year."

"Tight. That's what I'm talkin' about. I wanna get sleeves, but I need to finish my back first."

"Well, good luck." My stop approaching, I stand up, and notice he has a heavy pewter necklace that looks like some kind of...Dragonbat (Batdragon?). 

"Wow, that's a really cool necklace."

"Thanks." (He pulls on a wing to show it's a small dagger and the body of the Batdragon is the sheath. I remember a ring with a concealed blade I owned in the 10th grade.)

"Dude! That shit's badass!"

(He smiles, I exit.)