This Job Is Hell

I am a widow and almost forty, but I look younger and many people assume I’m still in my late twenties.

I have a very physical job, doing freight in a grocery store in a very small town; there are lots of patriarchal world views out this way. 

A few months back, an elderly man was shopping right as we opened, about an hour before my shift was over. He gave me this slightly offended look while I was sweating my life away, putting heavy things on the shelf. 

Then, he asked, “What does your husband think of you doing this job?” 

I said, “I don’t know; let me ask”. Then, I bent down and yelled at the floor, “Hey, [Husband], what do you think of me doing this job?” and cocked my head to one side as if listening. After a few seconds, I stood up straight, looked the customer in the eye, and said, “I don’t think he minds.” The horrified look I received was priceless.

I’ve seen him a few times since and he just gets so embarrassed with himself when I greet him. And I make a point to smile really big and be super chipper, because that only gets him more flustered. 

I guess you can teach an old dog new tricks, after all. Specifically manners.