Apparently, somewhere near me there’s a rogue tattoo artist with a perverse sense of humor and a penchant for mean-spirited practical jokes. I know, because this morning I witnessed an example of his work.
I went to the local pharmacy for supplies and checked in on my favorite clerk. Thankfully, he’s still employed, so my timely intervention last week remains a smashing success. While I was talking to Paul, a friend of his stopped by to show off a brand new tattoo. “Crank,” a high school senior, was obviously stoked about the artwork now permanently adorning his forearm.
Wishing to be polite, I asked Crank if I could take a look at the specimen. He was so anxious to comply he nearly clubbed me thrusting his arm under my nose. Admittedly, the “tat” looked impressive at first glance. The artist had inscribed a multi-hued, fire-breathing dragon stretching from wrist to elbow. On closer inspection, I could see that the creature’s sinuous shape spelled out an entire word. I nearly choked on a breath mint after reading it.
Not wanting to appear judgmental, I casually asked Crank: “What’s the word spelled out by the dragon?”
He practically bounced with excitement as he responded: “It’s ‘malaka!’ The artist said it means ‘warrior’ in Greek. And there’s nobody else with a tat like this either!”
I didn’t doubt him. Having worked in a Greek-owned supermarket as a teenager, I’d picked up a fair amount of the language, particularly the curses. The one etched into the lad’s arm was a doozie.
Since the kid seemed so pleased, I couldn’t bring myself to burst his bubble. Instead, I merely asked whether he knows anyone who speaks Greek. He said he didn’t think so.
I sure hope he’s right. I shiver to think of the bullying he’s likely to receive should anyone realize that “malaka” is actually a derogatory term for a master masturbator.