Laying Cable…and so much more.

Changing cable companies is not only a hassle, it’s an education. The other day I had the distinct pleasure of welcoming Cody, a cable technician into my home. From the moment I opened the front door I knew I was in for a treat. Not only was Cody tattooed from head to toe, he had hooks anchoring earlobes, prongs linking nostrils, and a chrome bull ring in one eyebrow. A one-man chain-gang. Quite a show, I must say!

While he inspected the existing wiring, he played air guitar. Sorry, but this is where he lost me… no can do the whole air thing. You either play the damn instrument or you look like a rabid Teletubby trying. So, while Cody gyrates about, his eyes rolling back into his inked skull, he tells me a little bit about himself.

Cody plays in a rock band on weekends. He thinks older women are great because they get excited when he sings to them. His “religious tattoos” are new age Christian, supposedly making his paintwork different than the everyday tats you see on the street. This was somewhat of a contradiction to my beliefs about tattoos. I mean, if you find something that speaks to you and want to paint your body…go for it. Or you get drunk and plaster a winged serpent on your ass…be my guest. It’s your skin. Just don’t give me the stink-eye if I’m not overly impressed. (although in Cody’s case I was tempted to suggest an artistic “Parting of the Red Sea” tattoo, incorporating his over exposed chafed butt-crack.)…Do these guys ALL have them?

I was having this dialogue with myself when Cody started scratching something fierce. He rolled up his sleeve and I couldn’t help notice that his arm was pink and full of puss. I guess after his last gig in a seedy little tavern where his band plays for free, he drank a few shots of rum with his drummer and decided to tattoo the Baccardi bat on his forearm. The thing was starting to bubble like it was about to fly off and suck on my neck.

Just when I’d probably had my fill of Cody’s memoir, he shifted gears telling me about a bleached blonde girl named Marcy he met at his show. Turned on by her energetic bounce, he invited her to Denny’s after the set, claiming to want to get to know her better before engaging in a sleepover. He looked my way for approval though I sensed he had already labeled me as one of those “older ladies” who become damp in the downstairs over ANY attention.

Marcy ordered three donuts and wolfed them down while complaining to Cody about her day. “I worked until noon…then I had to stop by the daycare because my kid was sick…hauled him back to my place…then waited for my mom to come over…got back to work just in time for some stupid-ass audit. To top it off, on my way home I had some blood drawn to see if my last musician gave me the gift that keeps on giving.” That was about all good old Cody needed to hear. In a full-blown tat scratch fever, he bolted towards the men’s room and slipped out of Denny’s, leaving Marcy to pick up the tab.

I have a new Internet connection, but they better not ask for my customer satisfaction rating unless the top brass want an earful…. or maybe I should just give them a link to this post.