Servant’s Back Entry

I recall, while in one of Portland’s few prestigious neighborhoods, having occasion to visit a home to provide assistance on a matter. In the scheme of things, I wouldn’t call it the most grandiose estate, but obviously nice. I rang the front door bell and eventually a woman answered. Now I had been summoned to this house, I didn’t just drop by. I was instructed that I had to go the “back servant’s entrance”. I paused, I carefully considered my next words. I considered I was a public ‘servant’. I walked around to the back of the ‘estate’ and was met by a ‘servant’ who provided the particulars to me, never meeting the actual complainant. An odd experience, by virtue of how I was raised, my social circles, and the small percentage of residences still having a waitstaff.

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