One day it will be illegal to discriminate against people with body modifications and I just hope that I am neither a wrinkly old bag nor six feet under when it is.
Whilst shooting metal and ink through the skin may not be everyone’s idea of a fun time; to me, rejecting the job application of a person purely because of their chosen body modifications is as despicable as if it were for the colour of their skin. (Which, in the case of tattoos, is exactly that!)
The main reason this discrimination is so prolific is due to their arguably ‘negative’ associations, and yet, do my eight piercings somehow cancel out my eight A* GCSE qualifications? Does having a stud through my nose mean that I am incapable of serving customers or washing dishes?
This is such an important issue to me because I adore tattoos; they are pieces of art and one of the most beautiful forms of expression. But I know that if I got a tattoo I would be drastically reducing my employability which, as a promising Literature student, isn’t exactly sky-rocketing to begin with!
We should not be continuing to humour those who find body modifications offensive because they are harmless and we are only, in turn, oppressing our freedom.
It was when I was sitting in the doctor’s waiting room yesterday that I had the (greatly overdue) epiphany that perhaps, on the occasion, doing as you’re told can be the lesser of two evils. When you have to spend an entire hour in the company of an array of people with an even wider array of ailments, I suppose your own mind inevitable fumbles over the reasons why you managed to secure your very own spot there.
Unfortunately (and rather ironically) for me, common sense is actually quite a rarity and so when the piercer told me not to take out the piercing within 12 weeks, that’s exactly what I did. Ohhh, and how I suffered!
Waking up to see that my ear looked like it had come straight out of the gruesome side of Google Images, I almost half prepared myself for a very Van Gogh solution. It was so gruesome in fact, I sincerely wanted to spare any doctor the horrors of it’s ghastly complexion!
So after a tiny bit of very painful prodding and poking, I am now on a course of antibiotics (and shame) for my foolish ways!
Since I certainly would never wish to scar anyone with images of infected ears, here is a drawing of Bob Dylan… it’s amazing what you can find yourself doing at 3 a.m.!