I recently came home from work to find a message from a customer on my Facebook. I hadn’t spoken to him apart from a greeting when he entered the store. He must have found me after seeing my first name on my apron. He left me a message that reads, “Hey, was you the pretty girl working at __ tonight ?” I don’t know how he expected me to respond. Yes. That’s me! I’m so happy you found me after I made no attempt to reach out to you or indicate that I was interested in you.
That isn’t reality. Quite frankly, I go to work to make money, not to find dates. I don’t head into work hopeful that today might be the day the man of my dreams finally leers at me from across the store, calls me sweetheart, and repeatedly comments on my appearance. I can usually handle the not-so-subtle come-ons and inappropriate pet names because usually the attention is contained in the store, but when someone goes out of their way to track me down it becomes a more serious issue. I’ve never mentioned where I work on any social media, and yet he managed to find me with just a first name. I never spoke to him, and yet he felt it wouldn’t be an invasion of privacy to find me online.
In light of his actions I thought it was time that I finally used my voice and spoke up. Not just about him, but about all the horrible interactions I’ve had in the past six months. As I’m writing this I’m swapping stories with one of my friends who works as a cashier at a grocery store. She just described one interaction with a drunk customer as, “the most uncomfortable situation of my life.” This isn’t uncommon. Ask any young female working in a customer service environment, and I guarantee she can tell a similar story.
I don’t want to hear how cute I am from a thirty-five year old wearing stained sweatpants, but he’s going to tell me anyway. It’s gross and creepy, but when he asks if I find it creepy I find myself forced to say no. I have to smile and play it off like I’m not terrified of him, because I’m at work. Where I’m not allowed to tell him to stay away from me, or that I’m not interested in dating him. Where he makes me feel unsafe and I’m expected to thank him for coming into the store. At work I’m not afforded free speech, so when he comes in to see me for the fifteenth time I’m not allowed to mention how insane he seems.
I don’t appreciate strangers asking questions about my personal life when I’m just trying to do my job. I don’t think it’s understandable that customers frequently walk right past me to ask the men for help, then come back asking me if I have a boyfriend. I know more than just my relationship status, which isn’t anyone’s business but my own. I don’t appreciate that my ability to work is constantly compromised by men who assume I want their attention.
