Never go to a tattoo artist if bad luck is following you

𝟬𝟯 | 𝗛𝗼𝘄 𝗱𝗼 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗸𝗻𝗼𝘄 𝗜'𝗺 𝗰𝗿𝗮𝘇𝘆?

A deafening sound interrupts my beautiful dream. It takes me a moment to realize that the sound is coming from that infernal contraption more commonly known as an alarm clock.

I want to throw it against the wall, but my mother would do the same to me, and that idea doesn't thrill me at all.

I turn off the alarm and roll over, hoping to fall back asleep. Then I remember what day it is.

Shit, today is Monday. It's my first day at work.

I jump out of bed and grab some clothes at random from the chair, which has become my new wardrobe.

I just hope the shirt isn't dirty.

I dash down the stairs and head to the kitchen to grab something to eat. I see my mom already sitting at the table with a cup of coffee in her hands.

"Why didn't you wake me up earlier knowing I start work today?" I ask her.

She looks at me and raises an eyebrow perfectly drawn with an eyebrow pencil.

It's my mom, and she does her makeup better than I do, damn it.

"You said you were becoming responsible, Brianna. So it's also your responsibility to wake up on time," she tells me.

I hear hurried footsteps coming down the stairs, and then my dad walks into the kitchen.

But shouldn't he be at work already?

He looks at my mom. "Kate, honey, why didn't you wake me up seeing that I'm late for work?"

My mom slams her right hand on the table. "You're adults! Wake up on your own, idiots!" she yells.

"Mom," I call her.

She responds gruffly. "What is it?"

"Are you on your period?" I ask her.

"Yes, okay? I'm the one suffering, not you. You can't understand what we girls go through once a month," she tells me.

I sigh. "Mom, I remind you that I'm a girl too and I have periods."

"You're right."

My dad has a scared look on his face. When my mom and I are dealing with our things, he has to behave well and provide all the chocolate we need. He's literally terrified of us when we have our periods.

"I'll stop by to get a bar of dark chocolate on my way back from work," he says, directed at my mom.

Mom looks at him disapprovingly, so Dad tries again. "Two bars of chocolate? One dark and one milk?"

Mom is still disapproving.

"Three bars of chocolate? One dark, one milk, and one white chocolate?"

Mom is still not happy.

"One dark, one milk, and one white chocolate, and a jar of Nutella?" he tries again.

Mom smiles happily. "Chris, have I ever told you how much I love you?"

Dad mumbles incomprehensible things.

He's probably cursing the woman he decided to marry.

I turn to look at him. "Dad, will you take me to work?"

"Sorry Brianna, but I'm running late too."

"No need to stop. You slow down and I'll get out while the car is still moving."

"Deal," and we shake hands.

I go to the bathroom to brush my teeth and catch up with my dad in the car.

As we previously decided, I get out of the car while it's still moving.

I reach the shop and open the door.

I wish I hadn't.

As soon as I did, something fell off a shelf.

The person who should be my boss raises an eyebrow. "Am I going to have to secure every object that might fall as soon as you open that damn door while you work here?" he asks me.

I smile. "He can always remove the door if he wants."

The boss sighs. "First of all, you're late. Second, my name is Paul, but you'll call me just 'boss'. Third, James, the guy next to me, will give you tasks, and you'll obviously perform them. Last thing, do you know how to draw?"

"Yes, why?"

"If your drawings are decent, you might end up drawing the tattoos."

I wrinkle my nose. "I don't draw on command. And then I'd have to listen to people saying 'I want a tattoo like this, but without this corner here, I want to add that, I want to put this other thing...', no thanks," I retort.

Paul looks at me seriously. "Will you complain about everything?"

"Sure. And he can't even fire me, considering I'm working here for a specific reason."

He rolls his eyes. "I can always sue you for vandalism."

I widen my eyes. "But he can't do that! I didn't even touch that damn painting!"

He waves his hand in the air. "Whatever. Now get to work. And bring me some of your drawings tomorrow," and he leaves the shop.

I turn to the tattooed guy. "So James, what's next?"

"You could start by not making anything fall. And next time you come to work, can you avoid getting out of a moving car? I wouldn't want people to think we employ crazy people here," he says coldly.

What a jerk.

I look at him seriously. "How do you know I'm crazy? Have you read my medical records?" I tease him.

James looks at me in shock. "I didn't mean... I didn't want to... It was just a figure of speech."

He looks so guilty that I decide not to push further. "I was just teasing, James. I'm not really crazy. Not in a certified way, at least."

"Have you ever thought about getting checked then?"

"Have you ever thought about being nice?"

James decides not to continue the discussion and gives me my first task to do.