We are More Than our "Justs."

Why frontline workers all deserve $50/hr more than they make now.

When I catch you being mean to front-line workers.

When I took my first job out of college, we had a really terrible client who was notorious for making people cry. Whenever he called, I cringed. One day an executive in the company called, asking for my boss. Apparently, Mr. Unhappy with Everything and Everyone had escalated his frustration to our corporate office. Because my boss was out meeting a client, the call was transferred to me. The executive had been with the company for 25+ years, and I later learned she began her career in the same job I had. When she asked me a detailed question, I simply replied, "To my knowledge, I think this, but I'm just a secretary, and my boss might be the better person to weigh in on that. I can have him call you the moment he's back."

She stopped me cold. "Christy, don't ever refer to yourself as 'just.' We as professional women are more than our 'justs.' You're going to be questioned a lot by just being a woman." It wasn't insulting, it was breathtakingly empowering! She cared about how I viewed myself and my position because she had once been in my position. Empowered women really do empower women.

I have often attributed that conversation to the kinder mental image I have of myself. We ARE more than our justs. We are more than the jobs we do. We are more than the cars we drive, or the salads we eat for lunch, or where we received our education. We are more than just the image someone has in their heads about us.

In 2005, my best friend Kristi and I desperately wanted to take a trip to Ireland. Kristi, having been blessed with the two greatest parents on planet Earth, still lived at home so finances weren't quite an issue for her.

For me? I was barely making it paycheck to paycheck in a major city. Brian came up one weekend and helped me put together a monthly budget to see where I had flexibility in my spending. As he laid out the spreadsheet, he had this grim look on his face. After all of my bills were paid, I had a whopping $20 left every month. And that didn't include groceries. I'm glad my meager health insurance didn't include wellness checks because I'm sure my blood pressure was astronomical based on the amount of Ramen noodles I consumed to stay alive.

I was so close to being broke, to this day, I still get PTSD buying name brands! It was no one's fault but my own. I had made some terrible life decisions in my early 20s, like having a really nice apartment in a trendy neighborhood. I had little to no furniture and those gorgeous vaulted ceilings in both my living room and bedroom? They were impossible to keep warm or cold. I chose to work in nonprofit fundraising because I loved the satisfaction my job gave me, even if that meant some of my friends were easily making $10,000 more than me in their private sector. I also have little to no impulse control. Do I need scented soaps in my bathroom? Not really, but I had them anyway. I was in serious credit card debt, being able to pay just a little over the minimums every month.

So realistically, the smartest thing to do in my precarious financial situation was to plan an international trip, right? Obviously. I rolled the dice and got a second job in retail. I imagined how much more wiggle room having a second job could bring to my life. I might even be able to afford fresh fruits and vegetables! Sure, I would be perpetually exhausted working 16 hours days, six days a week, but work hard, play hard!

I'm not sure how I made it 27 years on this beautiful planet never experiencing the horrors of being a frontline worker, but let me tell you what an eye-opening experience that year was. People are absolute animals. No, I'm serious. If you want to ask how humanity is doing, ask a frontline worker. They'll give you a knowing look.

Needing to sack away money for Ireland, that October I began working at a home goods store that rhymes with Shed, Cath, and Leon, and I stayed until the next October, quickly ditching out before the Holiday rush hit the retail market. One Black Friday was enough to scare anyone into staying home.

The things I experienced both shocked and amazed me. And that in itself was shocking and amazing because it was somewhat of an upscale retailer. I can't imagine what it's like to work at Wal-Mart or a hospital's emergency room. I had to cope in some way to save my sanity, so I quickly created a popular weekly update for friends called Tales from the Slums, highlighting some of my favorite customer experiences, both good and horrifying. I should have been blogging back in the day. I really think Melissa McCarthy could have brought my wit to life in the big-screen adaptation.

A few of my favorites memories from my short-lived career in customer service:

• The lady who was searching for kitchen rugs but had to hurry because her dogs were in the car. She returned 15 minutes later, and I thought, "oh, she probably lives close by and didn't like the color against the cabinets or something." They were still in the bag and she had her original receipt, so the front desk gave her a full cash refund, no questions asked. When we went to take them out of the bag, they were wet. Her dogs had peed in the bag, so she just returned them without telling us.

• A coworker who was loading frying pans on a display wall when one of the hooks came loose and whacked her in the face. I can't remember if it broke her nose, but she definitely had two black eyes and had to go to Urgent Treatment. This was terribly ironic as it happened on the day before we were supposed to have a free steak dinner for our impressive safety streak. Our managers had to tell people to stop blaming her for sabotaging the dinner.

• My poor sweet coworker who was always put on vacuum duties, despite getting severe nosebleeds from all of the dust. Like Carrie at the prom levels of blood.

• The insane quota of items we were required to put on bridal registries. My managers would often take a separate scanner to the towel section and just register them for eight of everything. In every color. I refused, no one needs that many towels.

• The one time my coworker inadvertently dropped an F-bomb on the overhead speaker. Shed, Cath, and Leon was notoriously picky about their above-par announcement etiquette. We were trained extensively.

• When our manager on duty got hit by a car in the parking lot and no one stopped what they were doing because we were insanely busy.

• Anytime we had to hold back rage when a customer came in two minutes before closing, stayed an extra 45 minutes, and messed up every single display we had just spent hours rearranging. If you pick up a towel past 9:00 pm in any retail store, just buy it, ok?

• The family shopping night when our crash test manager told everyone in the store that no one was allowed to leave until the store was spotless. I was not on the clock and my mom had driven seven hours to spend time with me and to take advantage of my 30% discount. I was not making my mother fold towels!

• The bride and groom who called off their wedding half-way around the store registering for gifts. Apparently he hates her preference in candles? They never returned.

• The poor sweet old lady who had a diabetic crash in the middle of the store, so I brought her a Coke and a chair from our breakroom and sat with her until I was sure she was ok. On my mad dash upstairs, I radioed my manager of the situation so customers wouldn't be abandoned. Moments later, another customer approached me comforting the sweet old lady, calling me a profane insult because she needed help finding a spatula and I was busy. In her defense, the gadget wall was literally 25 feet high, but still, read the room, Sharon.

I could go on and on, but the bottom line is this: people treat you as sub-human when you work in a customer-oriented job. You're not someone's daughter, son, mom, or father. You're expendable and you lack the intellectual capacity for abstract thought or feelings. That year taught me a lot about integrity in the face of insanity, and how at the end of the day karmic retribution isn't something you should wish on anyone. But a tiny bit of your soul soars when you see someone evil get their comeuppance.

Also, I realized the bonds of coworkers can literally make or break any team. I would have never survived that hair-raising experience without some of the most incredible coworkers on the planet, many of whom I am still lucky enough to call my friends today. We were all working toward something great, and I am so lucky that just for a brief moment, our paths converged at store #167. I love you Slum gals! ;)

Back to present day, I have become acutely aware of the fragile mental/emotional state of all front-line workers since that experience. I would be highly in favor of any federal/state/local mandate requiring every American to work in a customer-oriented field for one year to become a better human being.

Shockingly, most don't realize that the customer isn't always right. Just check the internet if you need proof of how unhinged people can act. If I'm at the grocery store and they're out of canned corn, I don't go full-on Karen. Someone knows, they'll get to it. My life is not over because of a can of corn.

If I'm a long check-out line, I might question how desperately I want the items, but I don't moan or mutter insults under my breath while waiting. When I get to the cashier, I make eye contact and ask them in a genuine tone, "How much longer until you get to go home?" And then I chat with them about their day and encourage them they're almost there. Sometimes we lament together that their shift just began, and hopefully, no crazy people will harass them.

A few months ago, I had a true Kathy Bates experience from Fried Green Tomatoes. I watched a customer in the drive-thru literally throw their food back into the window because something was wrong. While I would love to go full-on Towanda and ram my car repeatedly into theirs, I doubt I've reached the age that I do have better insurance. When I got to the window, I profoundly apologized to the worker on behalf of all humanity. I told them they were doing a great job and not to let one maniac ruin their day. And just before I drove away, I swore an oath of vengeance to personally ram my car into the offending person if I ever saw that behavior again. Don't abuse people who serve you, or else, you're getting Towanda! I probably won't, but just the fact that someone understood and had their back was reassuring. I get a lot of offers of free food in the drive-thru. I'm really good at boosting morale for that particular field.

If one thing positive COVID has brought to life, it's that our nation relies on people doing everyday jobs. Retail, food service, healthcare. They're more than essential. They're vital. And they are more than their "justs." Every person has a family or something incredible they're working toward.

I feel like through my experience, I realized people often don't treat you like a person when you're in a service field. And how sad is that? Without a service person, you wouldn't be able to get your prescriptions, the grocery store shelves would be bare, have your car in working order, be able to get help when you're sick, or frankly, be able to survive. Now add in a global pandemic, when people are literally risking their health to provide us with the services we enjoy on a daily basis. Kudos, y'all. You deserve a raise.

I went to have bloodwork drawn at the hospital last week and I ran into a duo of women who are literally the two kindness people on the planet. Irene was training her new coworker Barb in the protocols of hospital registration and both were apologetic for the slowness of the process. Haven't we all been there? Learning under pressure?

I could not have been more delighted to meet them. Here were two women way more than their "justs." I asked about their families, how they were coping with the pandemic, and if there was anyone I needed to verbally or physically assault to defend their honor. I have a pretty clean criminal background, so the odds of me using the temporary insanity defense successfully in a Towanda situation are pretty good. Plus, we were in a hospital and I'd most likely get sedated, enjoying a much-needed, uninterrupted nap.

Irene and Barb were mystified that someone they were serving was appreciative. I wish that wasn't the case! I wish everyone treated people with good manners and sincere concern for them as a person. We all have life stories that matter and are important.

Irene said the early days of the pandemic, she went to fetch supplies at Sam's Club, where the employees greeted all of the frontline workers with a round of applause. "Stop!!" she whispered, holding back tears. "I'm just a pre-admission coordinator!"

I had to give both of them my "just" speech, which today is closely resembling the Pawnee Goddess oath. They needed to hear it. Everyone needs to hear it. At the end of the day, we're more than our "justs."

And then we just chatted about everything and nothing. I had the time! Barb was telling me she was named after Jane Fonda's hit film Barbarella. Irene's greatest wish is to open an ice cream store, because "no one is unhappy in an ice cream store."

I wish I had access to Oprah's bank account, so I can go around making marvelous people's dreams come true. I imagine Irene would gladly give out free scoops to all frontline workers. And I envision that Barb would laugh at Irene's exuberance when her sundae came with extra sprinkles. Like three pounds of sprinkles.

Until then, may I ask a favor on behalf of all of humanity? Every person working to serve you has a story, a name, and most likely a gaggle of faces that are eager to greet them when they get home. Treating people like garbage will never, ever inspire them to give you better service. Be kind. No one likes a jerk. If you are, you're probably going to be the subject of a breakroom story after their shift. Why not be the amazing person who helped them stay afloat in a sea of chaos?

The Viscountess of Powerscourt had an incredible rose garden. Her roses are the size of cabbages. No joke!

For me? That year putting up with the abuse of customers paid for my first international trip.

From the moment I touched down amongst emerald fields, I fell in love with Ireland. I've made it my life's mission to live there someday.

When I returned from nine glorious days amongst castles, a handsome boy picked me up from the airport and proposed to me. We got married and visited it again in 2011. He shares my affection for the Irish people and the breathtaking beauty of the island.

While Kristi and I were strolling through Powerscourt, the Irish equivalent of The Biltmore Estate, I realized my life had been forever changed by both experiences.

I'm going to continue treating people like they are more than just a pre-admission coordinator or more than just a grocery store stocker. They're more than their "justs." They are people.

Thanks for reading!

~ Christy