It felt like he had just slapped me in the face. His words hit harder than my Mama’s worst beating. I stood there frozen with this blank stare on my face. Awkward silence filled the air. He spoke again and it snapped me back to the reality of it all. “Uh, let me go double check with the tattoo artist,” he said nervously. “OK,” slowly came out of my mouth. As he walked away, I began reading the consent form that he had set in front of me. When I reached number three on the form, my eyes were glued to that spot. I read it over and over and over. It did say what I thought it said: “I agree that I do not have HIV.” “But I do have HIV,” I whispered to myself. The guy behind the counter who was waiting on me returned and snapped me out of it yet again. “Yes miss, the tattoo artist said NO. We don’t tattoo people with HIV.” He gave me back my driver’s license, picked up the consent form and gave me this silly “I’m sorry,” look and said, "I’ll shred this.”
I turned to my friends Deidre and Jason who had come with me, I could see by the expression on their face that they had overheard the conversation, but I whispered to them anyway, “He told me that I couldn't get the tattoo because I have HIV.”
We walked out in silence and Deidre gave me a tight hug and whispered, “I’m sorry.”
Jason and I got in the car and I drove in silence. After about 5 minutes I said “J, that’s weird. I went into the tattoo parlor on
12th Street and they told me that they tattoo people with HIV all the time.” Jason didn't know and he said so. My mind starting racing and silence filled the air yet again. “J,” I broke the silence again, “I think they just discriminated against me.” He said hesitantly, “You’d know better than me.” Then he suggested, “Let’s call some other places and see if you can get it somewhere else.” "To hell with them!" That was a good idea, so we both started calling other tattoo places and asked, “If a person has HIV can they get a tattoo?” After calling three tattoo parlors we received the same answer, “Yes, come on in.”
I called information and got the telephone number to the
AIDS Legal Counsel. I told the receptionist what happened. I was then connected to a lawyer. After I described the incident, she confirmed that I had indeed been discriminated against. They had violated the Americans with Disabilities Act,
Chicago Human Rights Ordinances, as well as the State of
Illinois Human Rights Act.
She then asked my name. “Rae Lewis-Thornton,” I mumbled. “Excuse me? Rae Lewis-Thornton the AIDS activist?” “Yes, that would be me,” I mumbled. “WOW!”
Ann Hilton Fisher exclaimed, “You have got to file a complaint! We need you on this one.” “Are you kidding me?” I thought. She had just hit me with a curve ball that I was not ready for. She could sense my hesitation. Ann started talking again, “You know Rae, you have been a prima donna with AIDS. Everyone likes you because you are on TV and the cover of magazines. Welcome to the real world.”
This was the real world. The new discrimination is covert, small things that people take for granted every day. Like getting a tattoo or having a massage. I understood what she was saying, but it was a lot to think about. Getting that tattoo was something very personal. I didn't really want anyone to know, now I was being asked to go public. I went home and curled up on the sofa and cried until I couldn't cry anymore. It was all too overwhelming.
By 11:00 that night my head was pounding from crying all day and my spirit had taken a beating. I had to face a realization that day. Being on the cover of a magazine and having an Emmy Award couldn't change the fact that I have been discriminated against, just like many other people living with HIV/AIDS. This is still a reality in the 21st century. It was my reality just a few years ago.
But somewhere between mourning the prima donna, and wallowing in self pity, super woman kicked in. I picked up the phone and called Jason, “Hey, let’s go to
Jade Dragon.” “Tonight?” he asked. “Yes, tonight! I am not going to let them win. This is my birthday present to myself.”
Jason is a great friend! He felt so bad about it all that he let me squeeze the crap out of his hand for 45 long minutes. It hurt so badly and I wanted to quit, but I was determined to get this tattoo. It was my way of protesting. When I told the tattoo artist that I had HIV, he brushed it off. “Sit down! Turn your back to me!” He added, “We tattoo people with HIV all the time and it’s the same universal precautions with everyone. We don't know who has HIV and who doesn't.” Mid way through he said, “But thanks for telling me.” That was my first tattoo. The second one was on my birthday last year. A beautiful flower on the top of my foot!
Without any drama, might I add. It's true, they are addictive. I’m already thinking about my third one... I do have a birthday coming in 10 days...
Post Script: Yes, I filed a complaint with the city and state human rights commissions. Yes, the city's preliminary ruling was in my favor and so they settled. $2000. When I say the owner of this tattoo parlor was ignorant beyond belief, I mean it! The saddest part for me was that I specifically chose an African-American owned establishment to patronize and was turned away out of ignorance. All the juicy details will make my memoir... I promise.
Tea began as medicine and morphed into a beverage of choice!
I don't quite remember when I fell in love with tea but I do remember the most 
Until recently I had never drank Peppermint Tea made with loose leaves. And Honestly, I will probably never go back. The freshness of loose Peppermint Tea cannot be denied. When I open the can of 
I love to read! Inside a book I escape into someone else's life. There is something wonderful about turning to the next page of a wonderful story. Something intoxicating about the smell of the book and the story it brings to life. Reading brings me joy, and these days with my health in the balance, I find solace in my books.
