The Most

I've had some unexpected reactions to my tattoo since I got it nearly a year and a half ago. Most days, and by that I mean every day, someone comes along and comments on how red it is and asks what it means. And I'm glad for that. It's a Buddhist mantra for finding peace and enlightenment and it's supposed to be spread. I say it everyday, I have to, because I put it out there for people to read.

I've never had a negative reaction, unless you count my mother who was more upset by my beliefs than the tattoo itself. (Wait until she sees the next tattoo I plan on getting of a naked lady.)

My favorite reaction has been the homeless man with whom, by way of the tattoo, I had an enlightening conversation about faith and what Buddhism means and therefore what it means to me.

It's all unexpected. I got this tattoo because it's something I believe in very strongly, something very important and personal to me. And everything that's come from it has been a gift.

And then there was ... today.

An older Korean woman sat in a wheelchair by the entrance to the store, her skin grayed and browned by time, her mouth collapsing in on itself and making her lips non-visible. She held the stare of loss and lost that all people her age do, and she reached out to passers by with the same quest for forgotten warmth that every resident in my grandparents' nursing home ever did. We started to look for her loved one, that person that had brought her.

And the woman appeared, unaware of the hubbub she'd created by parking the woman while she went to the restroom. And it was a busy day, so I walked away. I'd been moving carts and I resumed my activity.

The claimant of the older woman, herself middle-aged and also Korean, wearing a white t-shirt, appeared ahead of me. She gestured to my arm.

"What is that?" She smiled.

"It's a Buddhist mantra. It says 'Hail to the Jewel in the Lotus.'"

"Oh," she looked at the tattoo then back to me. "It looks Arabic!"

"No, it's Tibetan Uchen Script."

Most people will say Sanskrit and I correct them, not out of a need for clarity, just because it's the next step in conversation. Are those bananas? Nope, apples. I don't really care about the bananas, but when one thing is actually another, I have a habit of pointing it out.

"You are a terrorist!" She laughed.

...

...

...

"No."

I sped past her.

I was shocked.

I work in a service industry. It's not the work I've always wanted to do or always want to do, but it's what I do now and a part of coming to terms with that has been identifying the lines I will not cross in that spirit of 'the customer is always right'. I will not allow a parent to vilify me to keep her child in line and if someone becomes belligerent over an ultimately inconsequential matter, like returning socks or a sign they failed to read and understand, I will not hesitate to walk away. And I walked away from this woman.

But I'm making it sound too rational. Imagine you wake up and a planet explodes in your face and that planet turns out to be a puppy who got really torn up by the ending of Schindler's List but that doesn't make sense because puppy's don't have thumbs blueberry 12 x q farter father Lincoln.

Now you are where I was. Never in my life did I imagine someone would accuse me of being a terrorist, even jokingly. I'm not offended it's just ... out of all the unexpected reactions, that is and always will be the most.