Archive for August, 2015

9790750 Legal background with wooden gavelI’m all about not being judgmental. If you read my blog about my son (Not So Simple Simon), then you know that I’m always telling people not to judge others.

But.

Sometimes…sometimes I feel the need to judge, and I can’t stop myself.

Like Sunday.

I went to a tattoo parlor with a friend. She was getting a tattoo on her arm, and we went in, chatted with the tattoo artist, figured out a price, and he prepped everything.

I had just gotten a tattoo, and while I wanted a nose piercing, I decided against it because I learned the heal time was two to four weeks, and I couldn’t go into the ocean before it healed. Since we’re going to the beach on vacation in two weeks, I decided not to chance it and instead pierce my nose once we were back.

Instead of getting anything done myself, I sat and watched her get a tattoo. Always fun.

More chatting with the artist, more chatting with her, afternoon progressed nicely.

I considered using him for some new work and cover-up work I wanted on my ankle.

Then it happened.

I looked at his hand.

The exact spot where the black glove gave way to flesh (with lots and lots of tattoos) had a lovely swastika. And, of course, I’m being completely sarcastic when I say “lovely.” What I really mean is that I had a bit of a mental stumble as I realized that there was no way in hell I would use him to get any work done.

The problem, of course, was how to break it to the person on the table getting the tattoo that the artist was likely anti-Semitic. Which made it ironic (and a bit creepy) because she’s Jewish.

I considered some of the easy ways. Like when she said that her mother disapproved, for a moment I thought about asking if it was because she would be unable to be buried in a Jewish cemetery with the tattoos.

I didn’t.

Mostly because I could imagine a moment or two of awkward going on when that came out, and, really, who wants to get a fucked up tattoo?

So I kept quiet, totally judged him, and waited for her tattoo to finish.

Afterwards, I told her, and she decided not to go back there either.

But…how do you not judge? Or, in situations like that, is judging okay?

Because, yeah. I had to judge, and there was no way I could or would stop myself.

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