I Thought My Free Tattoo Was A Stroke Of Luck, But I’m Terrified Of What’s Been Happening Since

“I think I’m going to get a benzene ring,” Said Amy, the nerdy but cute asian girl who hung out with us, and probably had more potential than us all together, “Behind my right ear. That way my parents won’t see it under my hair.”

We were sitting in the back of Brent’s truck in the school parking lot, watching as the rest of the school let out. Brent was my best friend at the time, though he was planning on attending school three states away.

“Aw, that’d be so cute,” Said Mary, clinging to Amy’s shoulder, “And I think I’ll get a bible verse right here. Something about purity.” She gestured to her ribcage, and Brent snorted. The previous year his relationship with Mary had come to an end when she cheated on him with two other guys. They’d made up, and she’d cleaned up her act, but her reputation remained.

“Uh, I’m not sure yet.” I answered, staring at the pavement below. I considered asking them for money, but my face turned red at the thought, and I already owed Brent a hundred dollars that he had pretended to forget about, “I think I’ll have to think on it.”

“Well decide quick!” Said Mary, “We’re going next Friday!”

By my estimations, I’d be able to save up at least two hundred dollars by then, but it’d be tough. I’d be eating Ramen for sure, and picking up some extra shifts serving tables. It would be worth it, though- after all, I wouldn’t be seeing them for quite some time.

But that night when I went into work, my name wasn’t on the schedule for the next week. In fact, no names were on the schedule – Burnette’s Bistro had recently experienced some competition from an Applebee’s that opened across the street, and Burnette’s Bistro was now shut down.

So I was officially broke. By the time Friday came, I had applications in for several new server jobs turned in, though none had answered yet. So I skipped lunch and went to the parlor that afternoon, and spoke with the artist.



More From Thought Catalog

blog comments powered by Disqus