Sometimes I wonder what would happen if an autocratic regime took over my country and tattoos became a sign of unacceptable deviance. The Secret Police might send tattooed people to camps of the concentration sort, or might just take them behind the chemical sheds and shoot them.
Accordingly, an underground detattooing trade would flourish. It might be illegal foundation salesmen, doctors performing illegal laser removals for a bit of extra money, maybe surgeons grafting skin over tattoos ? I have no idea if that would even work.
I don't think I'd have enough money to illegally remove my tattoos. But then I might get away with them ! They're not very visible, I'd just have to wear sleeves and sweaters all my life. However, what if the Secret Police conducted surprise inspections ? Then I'd be found out in a jiffy. I'd have to be a very high-ranking official to have a chance of survival and that's hardly likely.
Basically, I like to imagine how fucked I'd be in such situations.
One situation I think I'd handle very well would be a Zombie Apocalypse. For a while after I read World War Z (one of my all-time favorite books) I couldn't go to sleep in a new place if I hadn't come up with and rehearsed a plan in case I woke up in the middle of the night to dead people shuffling about and moaning "braaaaaaains".
I've thought about it so much that I don't even think it would be very hard for me to shoot my loved ones, should they get infected. Oh it would suck ! No doubt about it. But I wouldn't be faced with dilemmas like "I CAN'T SHOOT MY MOM" because I've had time to familiarize myself with the thought that it's not my mom anymore. It's a mindless brain eating machine that needs to be disabled.
I can go to sleep without planning my escape/survival now, except when I sleep at my mother in law's place. She lives in an apartment building tower that would be absolutely horrible to get out of if it were filled with Zombies. Of course, no amount of planning can make it less horrible : the elevator would be the quickest but the noise would attract them and if the doors open you're screwed. The best bet is the stairs but she lives on the ninth floor. That's nine floors of creeping down hoping no one sneezes. Also, nine floors is too far to make a sheet-rope, and anyway someone might have left their window open before turning into a Z.
Usually at this point, I echo the immortal words of Ron Weasley : "We'll just have to wing it, mate" and fall asleep.