It was a Saturday morning rush. The metal counter reflected college students, families and fathers looking for a pair of sausages or a fatty steak to grill for dinner. The market carried scents of Monahan’s fish and tomatoes from the farmers market that brought waves of warmth and familiarity. Just a normal Saturday at the meat market.
I squeezed past my coworker, our no longer white, but pink, bloodstained coats brushed against each other, as I made my way to the counter.
“I can help whoever’s waiting!” I spoke in my loudest voice, in hopes that it would be heard over the conversations of customers.
An older man approached my spot behind the counter; he resembled many of the customers I’d seen. Hair gray and receding back into his forehead. His wrinkles were deep like the folds in my large white coat that lay awkwardly on my 14-year-old body.
“Hi! How can I help you?” I squeaked in my high-pitched customer service voice.
I was expecting a list of ribs, pork chops, and New York strips, but instead I was met with,“You are so pretty and ladylike!”
My stomach filled with uneasiness. Ladylike? I stood there in my bloody coat, my face splashed with chicken juice, my four day old hair pulled into a messy ponytail. I pushed confusion and anxiety out of my mind with a hard shove and forced a smile.
“Thank you,” I replied, hoping my awkward tone would be a sign to stop, but he continued.
“The way your hair is pulled back! You should be proud of yourself, young lady!” He leaned further over the counter as if to get a closer look.
I stepped backwards, forcing a chuckle out of my now narrow throat, only to find my co-workers rushing behind me, completely unaware of what was happening. Proud? Proud of my looks, and not my job? Did he know how old I was? Did he remember how old he was? Questions flooded my mind.
But they were interrupted when he spoke again.
“Young girls like you shouldn’t be working at a meat market, you’re pretty enough to be a supermodel.”
What? This man knew nothing about me, yet he felt the itch to comment on what my life should be? I fought the urge to respond but I stopped as I remembered I was on the clock.
I felt powerless.
My face now resembled the color of ground beef I could see as I held my head low. As I strained my teeth into a smile, I asked him if he needed anything else. Careful to strip my voice of any disgust or disappointment. The customer is always right.
He asked for two pounds of ground pork.
I tore a piece of deli paper from its flimsy white and green box, and I fumbled my clammy hand through a clear plastic glove. I set the ground pork on the scale. A meager 1.83 pounds, too afraid to turn back for more, I wrapped up the sad pile of pork in brown paper and tape.
I handed the man his package and gathered up my strength to say, “Have a good one.”
He winked, smiled and walked off.
My heart was still pumping as I looked at my coworker. Her name was Miki, she had been one of my closest friends at work. Despite this, my lips felt like stone. I was going to keep my secret.
But to my surprise Miki looked at me and asked, “What was that guy saying to you?”
Just these few words prompted me to release all my feelings. Suddenly my mouth filled with words that spilled out like a waterfall.
Miki spoke to me with comfort and empathy. She told me of her own stories, and we realized that neither of us were alone. Although we shouldn’t have to bear the burden of dealing with creepy customers, our experiences tied strings between us.
Just then a customer approached the counter. It was a man. Flashbacks and fear infested my mind, but I took a step away from those feelings and towards the counter. I felt the strength of my friend behind me as I spoke.
“Hi! How can I help you?”
