What’s that on your back? Oh my. 0
My friends mean well. They look out for me. Last week was no different.
Wall Street Pete called about a $5,000 opportunity. He heard K-ROCK 92.3FM was having a “tramp stamp” contest. I began listening to him years ago when he suggested I pay attention to a pre-IPO biotech stock.
“You will win. You have to enter. That tattoo is hilarious,” he affirmed.
I had an opportunity to make money off my clothed body. With my winnings, I could make the max contribution to my IRA. I could make a Visa payment. I could go to Hawaii. I could also get the R in my tattoo retouched. It was fading.
I emailed Booker in the afternoon a digital pic. His intern replied to let me know the announcement would be made Monday. The only person that called Monday was Pete to see if I won.
My week progressed as normal until today. “We have to have you in the studio tomorrow afternoon with the other nine finalists. Your tattoo is great,” Booked called to tell me. He asked where I got it and didn’t seem thrilled when I said, “Key West during my friend’s 40th birthday celebration a few years ago.” The silence made it seem like I’d be the old fogey in the studio next to hot, dumb 20-something girls of questionable virtue.
My fate was sealed when I reminded Booker, as I did in my email, I live in Los Angeles.
“Oh.”
“I’d be happy to do a live remote with you. The tattoo is easy to describe to listeners,” I replied.
I found out afterwards, that couldn’t be an option. A tattoo shop in Jersey sponsored the contest. Anyone that knows me knows if I were in the New York region, I’d get a tattoo in the east Village before I’d go to northern New Jersey for ink.
Another 15 minutes of fame averted.