The city of Moab, Utah, just outside of Arches National Park, glows in a spectacular autumnal hue that has nothing to do with the season. Red sandstone blankets the surrounding mountains and the wind redeposits particles in the streets where they accumulate into miniature red dunes. I loved it.
During dinner with a friend, I mentioned that inspiration for my next tattoo finally arrived from that mysterious place from which brilliant ideas emanate. I wanted a mountain range on my left bicep, an idea surely derived from my outdoor adventures to that point. Similar to my eagle tattoo, though, I was frustrated by the uninspiring images I found online. The mountains were too triangular, the lines too sharp, the images too defined. They weren’t minimalist enough for me which, we all now know, is my aesthetic. Fortunately, I knew that patience was key and that eventually the universe would respond.
We stopped for espresso early the next morning on our way out of Moab. The brightly shining sun lured us to a table outside of the cafe where we sipped on our drinks in silence as men sometimes do. I don’t know when Victoria showed up; I noticed her three tables away when I got up to use the bathroom. She was sitting by herself with a baseball cap pulled down to hide her face so that only her long, blonde hair was visible. I’m not even sure she had coffee so it’s possible she was both trespassing and loitering.
I returned from the bathroom to find my friend engaged in lively conversation with this woman. She sounded heated but that was from straining her voice because she still sat three tables away. I resumed my seat and quickly realized that Victoria was bat-shit-crazy. I mean that descriptively and not judgmentally. She asked my friend questions related to NASA rocket launches as if he had astronaut-level knowledge. For context, my friend is short like me, out of shape, and has clearly never been put through the rigors of high-g-force training. Sometimes you can just tell that about a person and, in this case, you would be right. Nevertheless, Victoria persisted as if we were taking questions at a NASA press conference.
I’m not sure why I approached her. Perhaps a glance at her cap registered the image outside of my conscious awareness. I moved closer intending to make friendly conversation and that’s when I really noticed her cap. As the kids text these days: O-M-G! Victoria’s cap had THE mountain range image that I wanted tattooed on my arm. I broke out into a huge smile, turned toward my friend and stammered, “The cap! Mountain range! My tattoo!” My friend didn’t say anything but Victoria snapped, “Stop pointing at me!” so I did.
To my delight, Victoria continued her spacey line of questioning instead of asking me what the hell I was talking about. Keep in mind that I was hovering over her and invading her personal space. Didn’t matter. She just wanted to know about a recent shuttle mission out of Texas. I let her finish and, instead of answering, asked if I could take a picture of her hat. Victoria scowled at me, took the cap off her head, and flung it on the table. “You can have the damn hat!” I kindly declined, took a picture with my phone, and began a slow retreat. The last thing I heard her say was, “You know we’re all products of incest? Adam and Eve.”
I done told you she was crazy!
I never question the universe’s strategies or methods because the universe has been around a lot longer than I have. I needed to see that cap and, evidently, Victoria was the only carrier available. It must be like looking for an Uber during a busy surge– you hope for a five star driver but, at some point, you just take what you can get. I don’t have the tattoo yet because I like the idea of getting it in Los Angeles so that I’ll have one tattoo from the east coast and one from the west coast. But I already love the story behind this one.