Anytime you go into business for yourself, there are risks. They range from small things like choosing the wrong paint color, to the big things like losing cash, assets, your house, your credit score, your shirt--you know, the stuff you can't take to heaven with you anyway.
On the other hand, when you go into business for yourself, there are some pretty serious benefits, too. For example, it's 100% guaranteed that you'll never be laid off, no one ever has to approve your vacation plans, and there's absolutely no question as to whether or not you'll be able to attend your son's school presentation at 2:15 on a Tuesday--and that memory, the one of my kid spelling the word barn with the letters F-A-R-T, that's sure to carry over into the afterlife.
Ups and downs, goods and bads-- it's just like everything else in life.
This week, Jared and I have been faced with a bump, a down, a trial, a poopastic hand of cards--call it what you will. But, bu-ut, I'm bound and determined to be a good sport, make the very best of this situation, and work it in our favor.
When we leased Jared's office space, he was sandwiched between two upscale hair salons and adjacent to the funkiest restaurant in town. Excellent. He was across the street from an eye doctor, who's next door to a wine & gift shop, who's next door to a pizza shop. Also excellent.
We knew we were taking a risk, moving into a downtown area that wasn't completely thriving, but definitely on the upswing. "Let's be part of the solution," we thought, "let's do it." So we signed the lease, hung our shingle, and commenced with the cracking of backs.
After we moved in and starting giving driving directions to Jared's patients over the phone, we learned something new--we weren't renting the old Greyhound Bus building like we'd previously thought, we were actually inhabiting the former space of an adult book store. According to his baby-boomer patient base, it was "the best damn dirty bookshop this city's ever seen."
The word on the street tells us that it's also been a shoe store and a computer training center. Anyway you slice it, thank goodness we ripped out the carpeting. Anywho, we love our former XXX book store location. The renovations are beyond beautiful and so far, it's serving us quite well.
But here comes the challenge...
About a month ago, the hair salon to the right of Jared's office up and left for new rental space. Fair enough, but I was bummed. After all, they were fantastic haircutters and really fun neighbors for Jared--but most of all, that FOR LEASE sign was freaking me out big time.
Deep in my heart I was hoping to see a candy shop or a high-powered personal injury attorney move in next door, but, as with most things in life (including my bowels and bladder), this situation was totally and completely out of my control.
Welp, yesterday afternoon, Jared had the pleasure (no seriously, he says that they were super, super nice) of meeting the two young men who will be opening their business right next door. Their names are Something and Something Else (Jared sucks with names), and they're tattoo artists.
When Jared called to tell me, I was like, "WHHHAAATTTT!!!!????" Then, after I had a chance to catch my breath and sop the urine off my kitchen floor, our conversation went something like this...
JARED: I swear Amy, they seem like great guys.
ME: Great guys who are naming their tattoo parlor 'Discount Scrotum Art' or great guys who are naming their tattoo parlor 'Main Street Ink?'
JARED: I don't know, I didn't ask.
JARED: I don't know, I didn't ask.
ME: Well there's a big difference between those names Jared.
JARED: Right now the contractor is painting the walls bright red. But don't worry, it's not an evil red.
ME: Red? Oh geesh! What's their sign look like? Are we talking a spray-painted boob on a hunk of plywood, Jared?
JARED: I don't know, it's not up yet.
ME: Did they learn how to tattoo while incarcerated?
JARED: Okay, that's enough.
And the conversation went on for about sixty-two more minutes.
So, I've slept on it, and I'm feeling a whole lot better this morning. Tattoos schmattoos--as long as it's not a dive, this whole situation should be fine. And based on the not-cheap rent they're probably paying, and super-cheap rent they could have gotten one block away, I think it's safe to assume that these are upscale tattoos--no Bic pens involved.
With that said, I have made a list. It's my list of great things about working next to a tattoo shop.
1. I like tattoos.
2. I love Kat Von D.
3. Maybe they'll make this place into another tv show.
4. Perhaps tattoo artists have terrible backs and excellent insurance coverage.
5. I think that tattoo artists and clean-cut Mormon chiropractors are a virtual match made in heaven as far as friendship goes.
6. Maybe these guys have fantastic wives who will want to be my friends.
7. I bet they're fun.
8. Maybe I'll have them pierce my nose.
9. I need some spice in my life.
10. Increased traffic is never a bad thing, right?
Go ahead, give me an 11, 12, 13, and 14 in the comment section. Please. Please?
...and this officially concludes the hundreth post in my ongoing series of negitive-nelly musings. Tomorrow? Unabashed happieness-- I guarentee it.