THIS MORNING I watched a postal service employee degrade a heavily tattooed lady. The lady walked up to the counter, and before any anticipated niceties, the employee, another woman, told her she looked disgusting. The tattooed lady stood shocked. The postal service employee continued, informing the lady that tattoos are a sin and that no man would want her since she was so ugly. All of us in line were speechless. The lady grabbed her package, told the employee she was married and hoping to have a child soon, and that her husband loved her dearly. She walked out.
I can’t imagine how rough that must’ve been, and yet this lady handled it with such grace. But I feel guilty. No one else in the post office said anything—we all let it be the lady’s issue. Which it was, but something still didn’t feel right when she left. I admit I’m a transplant, having only been here for six years. But I thought Portland was different than where I came from.—Anonymous