One idle Saturday afternoon a couple three weeks ago:
At A Glance Author Sequoia Contact Sequoia@bme.anon When It just happened Artist 35-ish guy with black hair Studio Asylum Location Ames, IA I'd thought tongue piercings were cool and all, especially the ones with the little die on the end, but I'd never considered it an option for myself. I wanted a nostril stud forever, but then at the local O'Reilley's car parts store my dear friend mentioned to me that she wanted to get her tongue pierced. I was amazed for about two minutes (she's a baby plugs and emo shows kind of girl), and in three I'd decided to get mine done, as well.
Thursday noon
This girl I used to work with (at the Dairy Queen, no less) moved back into town, and before I knew it, via text messaging, we'd decided to go to Ames to get pierced. We loaded up the car (I got stuck driving) and ventured for Ames. I live in a wee meth-trafficking town 40 minutes to the east, but piercings are so much cheaper, and, well, cleaner, in Ames that everyone goes there.
Thursday 13:00
We arrived at the destination (read: the Asylum. Not the cleanest-looking or most comforting piercing place in all of Welch Avenue, but the one that pierces at 16, not 18.). Other girl I worked with explained what she wanted done (a strange little piece of jewelry that spirals through the ear three or so times.) They told her how they could orchestrate such an oddity, so she went back to the piercing room.
Now, for the strange part about the Asylum. Between the general area of the studio and the piercing room, there's a giant window through which you can gaze in awe or stare with train wreck-caliber horror at mods as they are performed. The weird two-barbells-through-one-hole in-my-tongue-just-because-I-can guy made it rather difficult to sign my little release form, poking the pen and therefore turning my phone number into a bunch of squiggles. Yet, I managed to check the "No mailing list – my parents would kill me if they knew I were here" box. Former fellow DQ slut finished with her ears, and we all climbed in my car to go to Fazoli's. I wanted my last supper, so to speak, for many days.
Thursday 14:30
Fazoli's was wonderful, and I scraped off my tongue with a plastic spoon after the fact. Upon returning to the Asylum, pen-poking double-barbell guy stole my keys but returned them after declaring that I was no fun. I promptly went into the piercing-with-a-view room to meet my fate. Aforementioned dear friend from O'Reilley's had decided not to get pierced but to come along anyway. So, she, girl from DQ, and a boy who wants a tattoo that's the Chinese symbol for "rainbow" lined up at the window to watch my piercing experience as it progressed.
The piercer, who, in fact, did not tell me his name did tell me to rinse with a revolting liquefied mixture of parsley, baking soda, and rubbing alcohol, tinged with old feet. "For how long?" "Oh, just a few seconds." My tongue felt odd. "Is this supposed to numb your tongue?" *awkward pause* "Sure, it can. Sit here." So I sat there, and he made me stick my tongue out. I wasn't facing the window, but I could still see my dumb friends gawking at the process. He marked my tongue with something. I thought it was a marker; later, the dear friend tells me she thinks it was a razor blade. Yeah, creepy indeed. Anyway, then came the clamp. Time and time again: "The clamp!" "Clamps hurt me so much!" "The clamp is the worst part, easily." The clamp didn't hurt me a bit.
At this point, I closed my eyes and they remained this way until the procedure was through. "You can't even feel the needle." "What needle?" I felt the needle going through my tongue tissue and struggling to poke out the bottom. It was in my tongue for three seconds, at least. I made unearthly moaning noises and, I suppose, generally made a spectacle of myself. I don't know exactly what happened then. The needle came out and the barbell went in, I suppose. I remember crouching down slightly and the piercer chastising me for it. After what seemed like an eternity, he screwed the ball on, and I stumbled away. "Don't forget your aftercare sheet!" I grabbed it roughly.
"Thuck!" and "Deshush Thucking Chwist!" were my first utterances. I ran to the Subway next door and asked for "thum eyeth, pweethe." After letting that rest in my mouth for a couple minutes, I decided it was time to go.
Thursday 15:00
I had to go to work at 4, so I drove back in a somewhat altered state. The drive is uneventful, except for my running out of ice once we got to the city limits. Cold water is fine as an ice substitute or alternative, just not as easy to consume.
Thursday 16:00
Work was interesting. I couldn't talk to customers, so I just made ice cream. My mother called ten minutes after I got there, and I only said one thing that sounded pretty slurred. She didn't seem to notice.
Thursday 23:20
I talked to my mom for a minute after work. It was a relatively good exchange.
Friday sometime:
Mother: "What's wrong with your mouth? You sound funny."
"..I'm eating a Kit Kat." *hopefully convincing chewing*
So, in summation:
The actual piercing hurt a whole hell of a lot. The whole it-doesn't-hurt-except-for-the-clamps bit was completely untrue for me.
Now, don't listen to that bit on not drinking. If the opportunity arises, don't hold yourself back just because of your tongue. Just don't get sick. You might, since you won't be eating too much for your first few days. And, because of the lack of food in your system, a small bit of alcohol will do for you what a large amount usually will. Not that I have done this or anything, but I know it's not that big of a deal.
Don't think too much about it: if you want to, do. You may chip a tooth, you may swallow a ball, but you probably won't. Assess the risks and go pierce your tongue. I like mine already and hey, they're calling me Helen. As in Helen Keller. I really do sound handicapped, but it's only Sunday. I think this will correct itself soon. My mother has since asked me about my mouth once more, and I lamely told her I bit my tongue. I don't think she believed me, but she still doesn't know for sure.