Chapter 15 � In the House of the Rocky Mountains

The day after I received the email, I received a phone call from Cadillac, and he urged me to come see him to help out in the new shop. As well, we instantly grew a like for each other after actually speaking with each other; one can only gather so much about another person through messages in text as opposed to hearing another’s voice, as some inferences can be lost in written words alone.  He instantly impressed me with genuine openness and straightforwardness. We made arrangements so that I was able to pick up a bus ticket a few days later, after we had planned my expected date of arrival. I did so, after the ticket had been confirmed, packed my things, and left a few days later.

           

            The ride by bus was rather uneventful between Edmonton and my layover in Red Deer, where I was shuffled not onto another waiting coach bus, but to a large passenger van with a small trailer in tow. I was seated with only 4 other passengers, with two stops along the way to Rocky Mountain House, both at very small towns that were little more than a couple dozen houses centred around a combination grocery and convenience store, postal outlet, and “bus station” (a Greyhound sign and a couple chairs would constitute this). Within 4 hours of leaving Edmonton, I was in Rocky Mountain House.

 

            I called Cadillac, and he informed me to call a cab to his shop, but, after finding out his shop was only down around the corner, I simply walked with my gear to his place. Located in a small strip mall containing only 5 businesses or so (a pub being one of them) I found his shop, Serious Ink. I walked in and was greeted warmly by him.

 

Let me explain a bit about my friend Cadillac. He is a gangsta philosopher by nature, with quick wit and streetwise style, but a gentleman nonetheless. I would find over the course of the weekend that he was an honest and humble person; in a town full of fall-downs, he was a straight up guy. Dressed in urban style, and with laid-back attitude, he is instantly disarming if you have hesitations, and funny as hell given the opportunity, he also was an excellent host, and he promised to show me a decent time while visiting. As it would turn out, he would deliver on this promise, but I was unaware at the time.

 

He showed me around his shop, which I found to be open-concept, and brightly-coloured and well-lit. He was not at that time completely finished his renovations, but he was in order to be open for business. He explained beforehand, and now, how since he had opened, he had had little time to do much else except tattoo. Now there is never a reason for any businessman to complain about having too much interest in his business from potential customers, but I could see that he did not honestly expect to be so busy so quickly after opening, and he was unable to run the show single-handedly due to the demand. Since this was a small town (perhaps only several hundred?) and he was the new kid on block, I was not surprised. He also explained that there was, in fact, another tattoo shop in town, but that that shop had only one artists also, and since he had already been established, he had a clientele of his own that kept him busy with booking for the next couple months, so the townsfolk were hungry for another option to get their ink. Cadillac delivered that option. Though this town was small in size and population, Cadillac had explained to me that there was good money in the town, and this was all illustrated to me, as I had my first tattoo customer within an hour of arrival. I had another one immediately after. Since I had arrived late in the day, by the time I had finished the first day of tattooing, it almost midnight when we had done and cleaned up. We quickly got changed to go out, and we stepped out the door on our way out on the town, with Cadillac as my friendly guide and host. I was immediately deafened by the silence and stillness in the air, and realized I was not in the big city anymore.

 

“Do you hear that?” I asked.

 

“That’s the sound of the mountains, man” replied Cadillac, and we headed down the street.

 

Our first stop was a local watering hole with only a half-dozen customers. By the look and feel of it, I sensed it was a country bar, but on this night, as it did a few nights a week, the live entertainment consisted of exotic dancers. We had a drink and checked out one of the girls’ show, and then chatted her up afterwards, hoping to drum up some tattoo business from her. Cadillac told me he wanted to show me another club, and after another drink, we left for another bar. He had called for a ride from a local cabbie that he knew personally, so we got a deal on the ride to the next bar. This club was much bigger, and geared towards a younger crowd with loud dance music, which I cannot stand. But, in a town this size, one is limited with the nightlife, so I took it with a grain of salt and enjoyed the sights. I am usually not a drinker, but on this night, I had a few drinks to be a polite guest at first, but as the night wore on I was no longer doing it to be polite. One girl had talked to me on and off throughout the evening at the bar; we had first seen this girl earlier that night, as she worked in the pub located in the same strip as Cadillac’s shop. Cadillac told me I should try to make it with this girl, but I found her too drunk and annoying for my liking. Cadillac chummed it up with a few people he apparently knew, as well as a few girls, and after a number of drinks, informed me that we were going to a party afterwards.

 

The party was in a small house with a coupe dozen people I attendance. I cruised around the house, making conversation with people, and became separated from Cadillac for a short while. The people seemed friendly enough and I was having a good time. But after an hour, Cadillac and I were in the living room with other party guests, when we suddenly got a weird vibe. I cannot explain it, but we suddenly both felt a change in atmosphere with the party-goers, and we quickly sensed a change in attitude toward us. Though no-one was threatening us, we suddenly felt as though we were unwelcome, and decided to leave. In the cab, we discussed this, and finally came to the conclusion that this is what to be expected in small towns such as this, where we were outsiders: I had just arrived for the weekend, and Cadillac was still a new guy in town. We arrived at his shop, and continued with the discussion.

 

As is most often the case when men get drunk, we entered into a deep conversation about our lives and goals and hopes. He told me of his goals as a tattooist, and where he would like his life to go, and where it had been. Life had been rough on him at times, thus his streetwise attitude, but he had a big heart that was not ruined by the evils of the world. Cadillac confided in me his feelings of isolation at times here, being from a big city and knowing no-one in this town he could call a friend. As well, there had been a cute girl at the party he had chatted with while there, and he was over the moon for her. I suggested he either find a local girl to date or get himself a dog. He actually ended up getting a dog and dating a local girl (though not the same girl from the party) a few weeks after I left that weekend. Our conversation was marred throughout the night, as Cadillac kept receiving messages on his cell phone from the girl that had been talking with me all evening at the bar, and he assumed she was looking for me or for a party to go to. We were interested in neither, and decided to crash. Cadillac slept on a massage he used for tattooing, and I retired to the couch in the shop’s front lobby. It was 4 a.m.; my head was spinning from talking, drinking, and the events since my arrival. I was asleep within minutes.