Tattoos

Citation

Dean, D.M. (2013), "Tattoos", Accounting, Auditing & Accountability Journal, Vol. 26 No. 7. https://doi.org/10.1108/AAAJ-04-2013-1326

Tattoos

Article Type: Literature and insights From: Accounting, Auditing & Accountability Journal, Volume 26, Issue 7

The room was white and clean and smelled like antiseptic. And this was just the waiting room. The room where it all happened, where Justine’s future would be decided, was through the plain wooden door on the opposite side to where she was sitting.

Her mother and father sat either side of her, each grasping one of her hands. Justine examined the brightly coloured tattoos that extended up their right arms. Both were different and the same. Different as each tattoo traced their lives, their achievements and even their failures, in symbolic swirls and images. Yet there were similarities to be found where those lives had entwined and touched each other. There was, for example, a bright white star inked in the midst of the patterns that symbolised the birth of Justine herself.

A low tone sounded and a number started flashing on the display above the door. Xavier, a fellow classmate, stood and made his way to the door with his parents close behind him.

“Good luck,” Justine told him, “Hope you get your stars.”

He nodded nervously and held up crossed fingers before closing the door behind him.

“Stars? An astronaut? It’s a pretty packed program,” Justine’s father said.

“Yeah, well he’s worked for it.”

At the wrist each tattoo began with a bracelet. Her father’s was a ring of ones and zeroes announcing that he was a programmer. Her mother’s was a ring of black circles as her first profession was that of an accountant. Up near the elbow, however, was ring of feathers or quills as in her mid-thirties, just after Justine’s birth, she had officially become an author with the publishing of her first book.

Her mother reached over and patted her daughter’s arm, “Soon you’ll have your own tattoos, honey.”

“Did people always have tattoos?”

“Well, yes, but at first they were just random things. Pictures that they liked. Flowers, stars, naked ladies, that sort of thing.”

Justine giggled, “But that doesn’t say anything. “

“No, and in fact some people thought that tattoos were ugly things. In a way they were then, particularly as the ink was completely permanent and the images couldn’t be updated for changes in the shape or age of the skin. “

“Erk. I’m glad that’s changed.”

Her mother laughed, “So am I. And what else changed was that tattoos became more about telling the person’s story, about saying something about who they were. At the same time, it became easier and easier for people to falsify their personal histories as more and more people relied on digital records. A visit to a tech and you could become anyone you liked with whatever experience and skills you needed to get the job you wanted.”

Her father leaned in to the conversation, “They tried identity cards but even they can be corrupted.”

“So the Government decided to use the growing trend of sleeve tattoos and now we all wear our lives on skin.”

“And,” Justine said slowly, remembering some of the information sessions she had had to attend before this day, “They use specialised inks that bond to your DNA structure so the tattoos can only be properly applied by the Government Agency for Employment.”

“And,” her mother added softly, “On the completion of Year 10 studies, each student’s results are examined and profiled so that the most effective allocation of career may be made. Oh, sweetheart, it is such an important day for you!”

“Don’t you worry either, Justine,” her father said, “Just like your mother, you can change careers if you decide to in the future. It is just that this first allocation is made to best utilise your skills and inclinations. You only need to do the mandatory ten years to cover your education commitment and then you can change.”

“I know, Dad.”

They all looked up as the tone sounded. Justine’s number was flashing on the screen.

* * *

Justine woke and opened her eyes. She reached up to rub them. Her mother caught her hand and held it to her chest.

Blearily Justine blinked until she could see her wrist clearly.

“It’s like yours, Mum!” she exclaimed.

Then she rotated her hand to examined the band of circles more closely.

“But it isn’t the same, is it?” Justine frowned.

“No, honey, yours aren’t black, they are green. You won’t be just an accountant.”

“What then?”

“Honey, you are going to be an auditor.”

Dianne M. Dean
Chartered Accountant, Beechworth, Australia