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I always felt horrible for Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman when she walked into the high end clothing store on Rodeo Drive. The way the store attendants looked at her, disgust spewing from their questioning eyes and impatient pout of their glossed lips, like she belonged back on the streets. Ouch. What an awful situation to be in, I’d think. Just demoralizing. Good thing it only happens in movies…or so I thought.

First day in Greece in the port city, Piraues. The scorching sun burned our necks, cramped from lugging 40 plus pounds of baggage. We were dehydrated, hungry, dizzy from the heat, I think it was three days maybe since we showered, definitely that long any of us had changed clothes or even thought or cared the way we looked. Sweat, dirt, grime, grease. Why not the whole enchilada.

As we had a 9 hour wait until our ferry to Santorini, Sierra and I decided to kill time and poke our heads into a few shops. Little did we know that not once, but perhaps 10 times were we going to re-live Julia Roberts crippling encounter as modern-day Cinderellas pre-prince Charming.

Time after time, employees glared at Sierra and I in the eye with such unashamed vile distaste, towards the end of our shopping excursion we couldn’t help but laugh right out loud at this ridiculousness. That is, when we weren’t looking at each other utterly crushed, confused, hurt.

Even without our backpacks were we that disheveled? Do we look untrustworthy? Like tourists? Poor? Ugly?

It was truly amazing. I would say in roughly 97 percent of the stores Si and I entered, we received the same reaction. No smiles, no no wave, certainly no help, plus a following look of disgust, sometimes laughter and whispers as we perused the isles.

Even young local girls our age responding to a smile from Sierra or I would give us the once over, turn to their girlfriends and laugh.

At one point when Sierra happily and with a big smile held up an outfit explaining to an attendent she wished to purchase it, the woman aggressively and very angerily barked something at her we couldn’t understand before allowing her to pay for the item then roughly shooing us out the door.

Who knows if it was because of how we were dressed or just who we were, travelers, that we received such awful visual and verbal responses from employees, one thing was certain: our attitudes, manners and demeanor had nothing to do with it.

This was the hardest thing to grasp.

The harder they pushed us, the meaner they treated us, store by store Si and I were committed to pushing them back with all of the kindness and courtesy we could muster, including speaking Greek, including asking how they were doing.

This really was the first time I felt like nothing I did or how hard I tried to be kind made any iota of difference. It was really the first time I felt absolutely humiliated. And over and over and over and over without break.

And all because of my appearance.

To experience the feeling of being looked at like you’re dirt, you’re unwanted, and nothing you say or do matters, was eye-opening to how some may feel every day because of their skin color, sexual orientation, or whatever the case may be. To encounter people who already have fixed opinions about who you are is a tough wall to break down.

Although we clearly received no immediate results from our loving responses to the grinches in Piraues, who are we to know if in small measure our refusal to spit fire back at them, maybe their hearts were softened in some way.

Si and I found comfort in the fact that we knew who we were even if these people didn’t and clearly didn’t care to. In times like these we were forced to realize that the only way to deal with such undeserved hurt is to hold onto the truth that we don’t and never will have control over other people’s action, only our own.

And if you can be at peace with your behavior sometimes that’s the only peace you will find.
But that peace is enough.