The first time I visited Eastern Europe, I was on a train with some friends from Germany to Prague. I was with a couple other tattoo artists and as we approached the Czech border at about three in the morning we were talking about getting recognized in strange places, and how weird it was. Then, the train stopped at the border, and within moments someone banged on our cabin door. I guess we didn’t open it fast enough. (maybe 'cuz we had been drinking the whole way there). The door abruptly slid open, revealing a Czech soldier, with the biggest machine gun I had ever seen. He took one look at us, then singled me out, pointing his gun towards my chest, and shouting, “Passport, passport!” I damn near shit an eggroll.
Then, what appeared to be an officer, poked his head through the door, and shouted a bunch of words that I didn’t understand. He looked at my passport, and said, “Your name is Paul Booth?” I thought to myself, ‘Oh shit, this sounds like they’re looking for me. What the hell did I do now?” All I could think of was sitting in a Czechoslovakian prison for the next few years, which isn't terribly high up on my list of things to do. So, with a bit of hesitation I replied, “Yes.” Then the officer said, “You are tattoo artist!” Again, I hesitantly said, “Yes.”
Then, the last thing I expected happened. His eyes lit up, and he said, “I am big fan! I love your work very much.” He started taking off his uniform, and revealed a tribal bodysuit. The next thing I know, I’m signing autographs for these guys. Of course, at this point, there was no machine gun pointed at me, so it was much easier to write.
Believe it or not, I’ve never really liked getting recognized in public, but this was sure one f--king time I appreciated it.
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