I drink because I'm unhappy and I'm unhappy because I drink: Anxiety at its finest-Part 3

June 1, 2009:

This is the day that turned out to be one of the worst days I've experienced thus far in this wild ride called life. It is the day I met the man that completely destroyed me. It would take me four years to realize that I was not in love with this person. I was in love with the person he pretended to be. I was manipulated in to loving this person so much that I lost touch of who I really was and what I wanted in life. It all started on this day; this seemingly normal sunny day in Myrtle Beach as I was searching for jobs during my summer vacation from my first year of college.
I knew I should have just gone to the beach.
I woke up on this day thinking it was going to be the start of a new adventure. I had just quit my job from Outback Steakhouse three days prior because... well, because I was at the beach drinking that day and didn't want to go in for my shift and as I proceeded to stay at the beach and skip my shift, I also decided that I was never going to go back. So, in order for me to be able to get away with this without telling my mother would be to find another job before I told her.
Genius.
She was already paying my rent and tuition so I guess I could give the lady a break, right? My plan was to find an easy job that I could most likely get with my looks and not a resume (I know, I know... it sounds bad but I am just being honest). So, where else would I go other than Myrtle Beach's famous boardwalk.
BARF.
Surrounded by sketchy amusement rides, over priced bars and 80's like t-shirt shops, I had no clue where to start so I just started walking in every place. Every store I went in to I was just being haggled to buy cheap bongs, henna tattoos and oversized and overpriced tee's with "Myrtle Beach" plastered all over them in glitter writing.
Can a girl just get a damn job?
I was starting to get tired of sweating my ass off while getting cat called by every dude on the strip, so I decided to go in one last t-shirt shop before I made my exit to go hang with some people on the beach. The store was called "Wacky T's" (what a clever name) and as soon as I walked in I got hounded about fucking henna tattoos again.
I DON'T WANT A GD HENNA.
The manager told me that there wasn't any available positions but as I was making my way towards the exit, the owner walks in. The manager asked him if he had anything for me. The dude very rudely shook his head no and continued to talk on his phone in a language I had never heard before.
You know I don't speak Spanish.
Then he paused for a moment, put his phone down and called me back in the store. He proceeded to tell me that he owned a tattoo shop on Seaboard Street and that they needed a person to work at the front desk.
I am so down.
As a writer, I have always enjoyed different forms of expression and art so this job was kind of like hitting the lottery. Being a 19 year old college student able to work at a tattoo shop while everyone else worked server jobs sounded like a damn good deal to me.
The owner told me to meet a man named (I am going to call him "D" for DOUCHE) D and that he would show me around and explain the position further.
When I walked in the shop I noticed the brightly colored yellow walls, black leather couches, tons of flash racks, a television that was turned off, and a long hallway to the back of the shop that contained more flash racks and a random shuffle board table. The man who was behind the front desk asked me if I was Shannon and I shook my head yes. My guess was that this was D but I was mistaken and he told me his name was, let's call him, Alan. Alan was a tattoo artist at the shop. His room was the first room on the left right across from the front desk. He told me that D was still in the middle of a tattoo and said that I could wait on the couch. He then threw a pink and white t-shirt with the shop's name on it at me.
Um, thanks...
I was feeling pretty awkward at this point. Alan didn't speak the best English and I still had no fucking clue what language these cats were speaking.
After about 10-15 minutes of waiting on that grungy leather couch I heard a voice call my name and told me to come through the back way in to his room where he was still tattooing. As soon as I walked in the room and saw him I immediately felt something. I wish I could explain this "something" in detail but I didn't know and still don't know what this "something" was. I got nervous. I got hot. I smiled. He said hello and told me his name. He took off his glove to shake my hand and then replaced his glove with a new one. He told me he would only be a few more minutes and then he would show me around the shop.
Please, let me get this job.
Once he finished the tattoo, he checked the customer out by the cash register and asked me a couple of questions about myself.
I hate small talk.
He had the same exact accent as everyone else I talked to that day and I still couldn't figure it out. Feeling like a dumb ass I just decided to ask and he said they were all from Israel.
Ahhhh... Hebrew. I do know that much.
He then started explaining the position and what I would be doing. He showed me the clip board where they wrote down all of the tattoos they did and how much they charged as well as how to use the cash register. He then went on to explain that I would have to clean the shop every morning and evening before opening and closing (mopping, sweeping, cleaning the bathroom, etc). It seemed like a pretty normal job as I was basically being asked to be an assistant or as they liked to call it, "the shop bitch."
I should have known right at that moment that I was getting myself in to trouble.
Oddly, he asked me to start off by cleaning all of the flash racks.
So, do I have the job? Is this part of the interview process?
I was really hoping that I would just talk to the guy and leave so I could still enjoy the rest of my day raging at the beach.
Yeah right.
I would say a good 8 hours later, I had finished with the flash racks and all of the tattoo artists were done for the day. The dude next door who worked at the piercing side ordered some pizza and came in to the shop to ask me if I wanted some while he looked me up and down and asked me for my number.
Cool dude. Real cool. But, I never turn down a pizza.
The end of the day consisted of me eating with a bunch of strangers I now work for and being asked very personal questions. D then asked if I smoked and that question alone made me fall for him even more.
Hell yeah I smoke.
We went to the back room of the shop that leads to the outside and he packed a nice bowl for me. I was thoroughly excited but then looked like an idiot when I tried to take the piece out of the water bottle and it was glued in. So, not only did I cough a-fucking-lot, I also looked like a damn fool. He laughed and said everyone who doesn't smoke with him on a daily basis does that. I guess my lungs weren't as prepared as I thought they were. The weed he had tasted delicious and I was stupid high. We continued to talk and get to know each other a little more but then I told him I had to go. It was midnight at this point. He told me the job was mine if I wanted it and to be at work the next day at 9 a.m.
Heart racing. Grinning face.
I called my mom that night and told her about my new job. She was freaked and said she didn't know about me working in a tattoo shop. I also had a lot of missed calls and texts from my friends who had been waiting on me to arrive to the beach.
Whoops. Sorry. Still alive.
The next morning, I woke up early and took a shower. I actually thought about what to wear and that rarely happens. When I arrived at the shop, I hear "Good Morning Sunshine" and look up to see D's smiling face staring at me.
The "something" feeling is happening again. I continued to melt.

To be continued...