Working within the industry that I do, there are many people you remember throughout the years. While some of them, you find, are there almost every day or, more specifically, at a certain time on certain days of the week (there is one woman who always comes in on Friday nights around 7:30 pm), there are others who have, for one reason or another, left an impression on you. For some, it may be that they are always kind or remind me of someone important in my life: there is one old man (who, thinking now, I haven't seen in quite a while) who reminds me of my grandpa. Besides the fact that he's old and friendly, the thing that really did it was when he started singing "Katie, K-K-K-Katie!! You're the only g-g-g-girl that I adore..." Though it is a bit of a generational song (and I'm sure for many folks that age, a girl named Katie is sure to spark remembrance of the tune), there is the sentimental part of me that still thinks of my grandpa singing it to me as a little girl.
I worked for the company for two years before I had my first daughter. In just that short amount of time, certain things about me had changed. I always thought that I was an easy-going, go-with-the-flow type of girl. I was friendly. All the time. To everyone. I understood that each person's mood and attitude was affected by their circumstances and tried to be patient when it came to difficult customers. I was really good at hiding any sort of annoyance that I felt when it came to the crabby, rude and intimidating customers.
But little by little, the longer I worked there, the more I realized just how awful some people could be--and for no reason at all! It began to wear on me. More often than not, I walked in the door with a sour mood, knowing that I had yet another day of biting my tongue ahead of me. Though it sometimes got to me, I knew that I needed a job. With the economy heading down the shitter, I still needed to the rent and the bills, and this job was all I had. So biting my tongue became a daily thing. I'd come home after rough days, pry my mouth open and let the blood spill. I don't mean that I reaped havoc on those around me, but I let all the petty crap from the day out over a cup-o-joe and a few cigarettes with my roommates (three best friends and my husband).
I can clearly recall my first encounter with one particular woman. At about 4'10", she was about 4' around as well. With dark hair, dark eyes, and clothed in a sloppy shirt and what I would guess were pajama pants, she strolled up to my line with a full cart, including a child in the front. When the person in front of her was done gathering up their things, she was about half-way done unloading her things onto the conveyor belt. As we like to keep things moving, I began to ring her items up and place them into a spare basket (which all cashiers have on hand when ringing).
Tired and annoyed, she looked at me and said, "Can you wait to use my cart?"
Rolling my eyes (I thought out of her sight), I pushed my cart behind me a bit and sighed.
"Are you having a bad day?" she questioned, catching me off guard.
"Excuse me?" I had to say something so I could gather my marbles.
"It seems like you're having a bad day. You're being very rude."
Again, I was taken aback. Whaaaat? Someone willing to say exactly what was on their mind? How jealous I was! Why can't I do that? Oh...wait...because she could easily call corporate and that would be the end of this job for me. And, as we discussed earlier, I needed it. As much as I hated it, I needed it. I'm just not the type of person who can up and quit, thinking (hoping, knowing) something better would come along.
With that thought in my head and what felt like every last drop of blood in my body rushing to my face, I replied, "No ma'am. I'm very sorry. I was not meaning to be rude."
Argh, the humbling effect of being put in my place. It was not something I was used to and not at all something that felt very good. The me before I worked there would never had needed to be put in her place. She knew where she stood and was always very kind, considerate and thoughtful of everyone. That moment stuck in my head. Obviously, its still stuck in my head. For a long time I resented the woman who called me out on having an attitude.
In July of 2009, my first daughter, Addeline was born. After a brief labor, followed my a surprise (and emergency?) c-section, she burst into my life with a power I never before understood. The first few weeks at home were hard. We slept on the main level, as I wasn't supposed to go up and down stairs. I woke with her through the night, cradled her to sleep on my chest, napped in the afternoons, and rarely got out of my pajamas. I soaked up all the rest and relaxation I could, as I never had surgery of that sort before. Between the first and third month, she began being a bit colicky. She had stretches of crying, only to be soothed by me. I guess its being the mother--the caregiver, the life source. I felt bad for my husband when, after 8 weeks, I returned to work. Lucky for him, we were both on the same schedule, and so most evenings when I had to work, his father, sister, or my parents, would watch Addie. I felt bad for them, too. It broke their hearts every time she would cry, unable to be soothed, for hours on end.
With those 8 weeks of nonstop childcare under my belt, I returned to work with a new found patience. While it was a bit of an escape for me to return to work (I was in need to some time away, so that I could enjoy the time I was home more), I worked even harder than before, so that I may get home to spend time with the ones I loved. Beaming as a new mother does, I felt more joy in the work I did. I saw things in a whole new light. I was the person I had been before, only better.
And that woman who pointed out my misgivings? I still see her. She probably comes in once a week or so. But as a fellow mother, I get it now. We do it all: care for our children, chase them around at home and at the store, work, work, work, run to the store in our pajamas (my husband's BIGGEST pet peeve), and hope that the cashier in line understands when we don't want to move our case of water or the kids to a new cart.
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