The only satisfying part of that day was seeing my brother turn white as a ghost from the pain of having a long tribal tattoo scraped into his mid abdomen down to the thigh along the crotch area. Yes Adam, I went there. Adam, at one point, almost passed out from the pain. And I stood by with a devilish grin on my face.
Years later, while working at the Ritz-Carlton Philadelphia as a purchaser, I found out something out about my little tattoo which could be described as ... the icing on the cake. I was picking up my work clothes from our uniform room which was run by a very sweet diminutive older Chinese woman named Lucy. I knew Lucy ever since I had started working at the hotel. I don't know why I suddenly chose this particular time to show Lucy my tattoo, but I went for it.
"Yeah, OK Marc, show me your tattoo," she said eyeing me cautiously.
I lifted my shirt and exposed my tattoo to Lucy. She looked at it a minute, squinted, then leaned forward awkwardly close about 6 inches from my waist, still looking at my tattoo.
"Well...,"she began, straightening out,"that means family but not how you think it means family. It means family like Chinese Mafia!!!"
"WHAT!?!?!?" I exclaimed. I turned scarlet red and make a hasty exist from the scene completely mortified. In retrospect, I guess it could have be worse and mean something else!