The Cursed Trade

I don’t approach tattoos lightly. I only have to imagine myself as an eighty year-old with a Twenty One Pilots tattoo to realize that a permanent modification to my body is going to have to meet two requirements:

• It has to have as much meaning to me in forty years as it does to me now
• It should be somewhat enigmatic to anyone who looks at it

A Demon Named Migraine

Anyone who suffers migraines on a regular basis can attest to the lacking efficacy that over-the-counter medicine can have on a real eye-buster.

Kimberly and I were grasping at straws to help our second-oldest deal with the migraines she was prone to suffering. Somewhere down the rabbit hole of our research, we read that a daith piercing could potentially help relieve migraines.

Because my wife and I met in massage therapy school–a story for another time–we’re no strangers to Eastern medicine and acupuncture specifically. These methods were taught right alongside in-depth anatomy and physiology classes that still serve me today.

For example, I can tell you that stubbing your digitus minimus pedis is one of the most painful experiences of your life, and that the anterior superior iliac spine is my most favorite bony protrusions on my wife.

I won’t speak for Kimberly right now, but I’ve always held mystical practices at arms’ length, but had to participate in some of them to fulfill my certification and eventual continuing education credits. I’ll still believe in them more than the idea that vaccines cause autism. Or chiropractors.

So why not permanently activate a pressure point by stabbing a hole through it? It couldn’t hurt, right?

Enter StabSlab

Living in a tiny city in the Deep South means that it can be hard to find a decent place to trust for such a delicate procedure. All tattoo and piercing parlors seem to be nestled in seedy strip malls, adorned with cigarette-smoking, lank-haired skeletons skulking around their entrances.

I can entertain the idea that said skeletons could be excellent at piercing, but the hurdle of first impressions is a hard one to jump over.

How we discovered StabSlab is something I’ve forgotten at this point. It might have just boiled down to googling a piercer that was relatively close to us that didn’t operate out of some kind of “pagoda” or utilize little plastic piercing guns.

While it was still nestled in a seedy strip mall, there was nary a skeleton in sight when we rolled in, so we figured that was an immediate plus. Upon entering, it was clear that it was a relatively fresh business, as there was still some setting up involved. Don’t be mislead, however, StabSlab had no shortage of questionable jarred specimens, snarky signs about how “nobody here cares how cheap your last tattoo was,” or real live actual snakes.

Kimberly has a phobia of snakes, but luckily they were hiding in hollowed-out logs or plastic igloos, lying dormant for the next rat to be dropped in through the hatch at the top of the tank. We soldiered on.

The owner of StabSlab is Concetta, a passionate Italian mom of three whose age is indeterminate. She gave us the rundown of piercings that she would not do because of their eventual long-term issues, and handed over a parental consent form for us to sign since our daughter was only fifteen.

Turns Out it Does Hurt

My daughter hates needles, so we were already at a disadvantage as she was led back to the room where such things were wielded. I think it was her nerves, paired with the intense pain of the piercing, that caused her odd reaction to laugh uncontrollably through the entire procedure.

In between guffaws, while my hysterical daughter was trying to catch her breath, Concetta happened to mention that she was willing to trade store credit for any awe-inspiring, badass items that we could bring in to help her decorate.

The rusty wheels of my mind started turning.

Mummified Monkey’s Paw

The Monkey’s Paw is one of those stories that has managed to worm its way into humanity’s general psyche to the point that we are all kind of familiar with it without being able to directly quote it.

A simplified synopsis: A disembodied monkey’s paw will grant three wishes with a dark twist.

It’s unkind to sum up this century-old story, but it embodies the adage “be careful what you wish for,” which is something we’ve all heard before.

I dare you to give me one reason why a monkey’s paw wouldn’t be the perfect addition to a macabre-laden business called StabSlab?

Well, I couldn’t think of one either, so I made it:

And Concetta was more than happy to trade it for my tattoo.

She’s moved her shop to a more exclusive location downtown, and I’ve been meaning to pay StabSlab a visit to get some updated pictures.

Please check out my Etsy shop to see if I have anything up: