So usually I try to write about something relevant to current events, but I think it's about time I shared the following story with the world.
As some of you may know, I spent a brief time during my last semester of college working at Wal-mart. Yes, Wal-mart. I was going to school part-time, and I needed a job. Though I applied to a myriad of places around Ithaca, Wal-mart was the only establishment that was willing to employ me for just 3 months and then let me fly free. So, I donned my khaki pants, my navy blue shirt, and my little nametag, and I began my adventure at the Wal-mart in Ithaca, NY.
It was an experience. I was a cashier, so I got to deal with all of the customers first-hand. It was about a 50-50 split between college students and residents of Ithaca and the surrounding areas. Now, let's get this straight right now--Wal-mart definitely has a reputation for drawing customers from the more...interesting...scope of the population. If you've ever visited peopleofwalmart.com--or Wal-mart, for that matter--you know what I mean. Now, this being Ithaca, which is populated by mostly priveleged college students, I didn't have too many run-ins with really bizarre people. But I did meet some.
The story you are about to read is completely true. Any relation to persons living or dead is in fact purposeful.
It's 10 o'clock at night. I've just left my post at register 12, and I'm ready to end my shift. I'm shuffling to the back of the store toward the mysterious double doors labeled "Employees Only", my navy blue Keds scuffing along the dusty floor, hands in the pockets of my khaki pants. I bust through the swinging doors and am met by the smell of incomplete construction projects layered with a hint of dog food, or something like it. I go to my locker, twist the knob of my combination lock, and yank open the door to my life. I reach in, grab my crumpled-up sweatshirt and 80s leather purse, say good-bye to whoever is within sight, and head back through the swinging doors.
I always washed my hands before leaving work. It was both a symbolic washing my hands of Wal-mart and also a literal washing of all the dust and grime that had accumulated on my fingertips as I swiped barcodes across the scanner and jammed grimey dollar bills into my cash drawer. (Plus, this Wal-mart, which was already enormous, was in the process of becoming a Super Wal-mart, so there was a layer of sawdust covering just about every inch of the store.) Anyway, there's a public restroom right outside the employee doors, so I head toward the door, being careful to avoid the scooter precariously parked outside of the doorway by a customer who was presumably unable to walk independently around the vast enormity that is the Ithaca Wal-mart.
I enter the ladies' room, assuming (stupidly) that I will be able to wash and dry my hands in peace and then be on my merry way. Instead, I am almost immediately met with the sight of a rather large woman standing in front of the electric hand dryer, pantsless. And I do mean pantsless. Completely naked from the waist down.
Now at this point, I have no idea what to do. Knowing full well that I can't just scream and run out of there--at the risk of embarrassing this woman even further--I simply make my way to the sink and begin the handwashing process, hoping to complete it as quickly as possible and making a mental note to use paper towels to dry my hands.
But of course my hopes of avoiding all interaction with this woman are dashed. Having found herself standing half-naked in a public restroom, she feels the need to provide to me an explanation for her actions.
"I don't usually take my pants off in public restrooms," she says to me.
I glance at myself in the mirror. Reverse Courtney, what do I do? My reflection gives me no counsel and instead simply stares back at me, horrified. I respond with something senseless like, "Oh. Ok."
She then proceeds to relay to me the following story: while driving down the road, she spilled her hot coffee on her lap and was so uncomfortable that she decided to come into Wal-mart and dry her pants and undergarments.
Now, this sort of makes sense. However, I failed to see the logic in what I later gathered must have been the process of her actions. She, 1), spills coffee on her lap. Ow, she thinks, that hurt. And my pants are wet, but I would prefer them to be dry.
2) She sees a Wal-mart in the distance, shining like a beacon of redemption and dryness.
3) She pulls up to the Wal-mart, parks her car, and gets out with some difficulty.
Here's where things get confusing. At this point, the coffee has undoubtedly cooled, though her pants may still be uncomfortably damp.
Now, personally, if it were me, I would tough it out in my wet pants and just drive home, where I could take my clothes off in my privacy of my own room.
But no. She instead decides to walk into Wal-mart, commandeer a scooter, drive all the way to the back of the store, park her scooter, enter the bathroom, take off her pants and her underwear in the public area of the restroom, and begin to dry them under the electric hand dryer, knowing full well that anyone could walk in an any time and be met with a very surprising and very unpleasant sight.
And yet, it is the decision she chose to make. And so, I finished washing my hands, avoiding looking anywhere but straight ahead and praying that she would not ask for my assistance. I exited the restroom, power-walked to the front of the store, said good-bye to my fellow cashiers, and burst out into the night air, knowing that--if nothing else--this encounter provided me with some serious material for a story.
Now, before I wrap this up, I just want say a couple of quick things about working at Wal-mart. It may have been unpleasant at times, and maybe it wasn't a postgraduate career that I wanted to pursue, but I would never take back those three months that I spent working there. It was one of the most educational and humbling times of my life. My co-workers were some of the nicest and most down-to-earth people I've ever met. Sure, there were some strange folks, but mostly, just genuinely honest people. People who ask how you are and actually care about your answer. A manager who sincerely thanked me for my time there when I announced that I had to leave.
And then of course there were the humbling moments. Times when customers would ask me about myself and be genuinely surprised that I was in college. Times when I would see people from school come in and feel embarrassed that I was working at Wal-mart--not because I doing research for some liberal expose of corporate America, but because I needed the money. Times when my professors would tell me to quit, not realizing that I couldn't.
But like I said, I would never take those moments back. Not every part of life is sparkly and shiny. Sometimes life is difficult--a lot more difficult than working at Wal-mart for a semester--and not everyone gets to experience that. So many people have to fight every single day to keep going, and so many other people have no idea what that's like. It would be so much easier to live with each other and to create a better world for each other if only everyone knew what it was like to struggle, even just a little bit.
I don't think everyone should go out and work at Wal-mart for a week, but maybe just take a step back from your life and realize that the amount of what you have is the exact amount of what you have to lose.
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