Black lettering tattoo on an upper arm reading Those who mind don't matter, those who matter don't mind, in a plain block typeface.

Quote lettering on an upper arm

Lettering · Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

The tattoo is a line of black lettering in a plain, slightly irregular block typeface, set in two lines across the skin. The text reads Those who mind don't matter, those who matter don't mind, with an ellipsis before the first line. The photo is taken at an angle indoors, with a grey sleeve visible at the edge of the frame.

Lettering Upper arm Quote Text Lettering

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The complaint about me had my surname spelled wrong, which Maureen said was the only accurate thing in it. It was twenty past three on a Tuesday, the ward lights dimmed to the amber they used after midnight, and I was holding the form over the sluice sink as if it might sting. Mr Pemberton in bed nine had called me slow. His daughter had called me worse, and she had written it down in capitals so there could be no mistake.

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Maureen took the paper from me, folded it into quarters and slid it into the pocket of her cardigan. She had been sister on Ward Seven for twenty-six years and wrote like someone who had signed a thousand drug charts. 'Listen to me, Jade,' she said. 'Those who mind don't matter. Those who matter don't mind. You'll think that's a cheap line until you've had a daughter stand at that desk and tell you what you are.' Then she clicked her biro and went off to check the fridge temperatures, humming something from the radio.

Bed nine's buzzer went at four. I went in with my torch and found Mr Pemberton sitting up, his glasses pushed onto his forehead, the sheet clutched to his chest. He wanted the time. I told him. He held my wrist for a moment, his fingers cold and papery, and said he had never once in his life called anyone slow, only his brother, and his brother had deserved it. I laughed, and he looked pleased with himself, and I stayed until his breathing settled.

At handover the complaint form was back on the staff noticeboard, pinned between the rota and a leaflet about hand hygiene. Maureen had not written a word on it. She had only drawn a neat box in the corner, and inside the box, in the same blocky capitals, she had put a tick.