I am fat.
It has taken me a really long time to be able to say that out loud. It’s true, though. I’m fat.
I also work in a grocery store. These two statements may seem unrelated, and maybe they are. My body doesn’t interfere with the way I do my job. Granted, if I were a little taller and my belly a little bigger, I might have to make sure my stomach didn’t skew the results when I weigh produce or food from the salad bar, but by and large (ha), besides distracting customers with my glorious cleavage, this body doesn’t get in my way at work.
My grocery store job (one of the two jobs I have at the moment), is not the stuff of my childhood dreams…I didn’t wake up one morning and realize that my life would be incomplete if I never memorized 64 produce codes. But it (mostly) pays the bills, and it’s certainly not the worst part-time job I’ve ever had (being drowned by a three-year-old in a YMCA pool comes to mind…). It’s also kind of fun. I really like a lot of the people I work with, I enjoy interacting with the customers, I save up a few good stories every day, and most of all, I get to talk about one of my favorite things in the whole world: food.
Just like one of my favorite things about working at a public library was getting to comment on the books people were checking out and recommending new books for them to read, I really like asking people about the food they’re buying. If it’s something that I’ve been curious about but haven’t gotten around to trying yet, I ask them if they like it. If it’s something that I love, I say so. It’s GREAT! It’s the most fun part of my job! More fun than flirting with my supervisor, way more fun than taking out the trash.
However.
I have noticed that some people seem to promote me in their minds when I start to talk about food. I am no longer Lowly Grocery Store Cashier. I am the FOOD POLICE. I am clearly judging them on the basis of what they are buying at the grocery store. I must think less of them for buying that delicious-looking salted caramel gelato. Or the (awesome) macaroni and cheese from the hot food bar. Or a big tub of guacamole. Forget that I am openly announcing how much I love each of these foods. I must be judging them. I’ve had customers smile guiltily, eyes downcast, when I commend them for buying a piece of tiramisu (which is truly glorious). I have a couple of regular customers who proudly announced their plan to walk from home to the store every evening and only buy one vegetable, as a way to ‘eat better’ and thus, lose weight. They had big grins on their faces as they gazed lovingly at their eggplant, looking up at me expectantly, waiting for me to congratulate them. Because obviously, as a fellow fat person, I must want to lose weight too. Don’t fat people always want to lose weight?
Well, I don’t. I have only recently begun to love this body, and I’m not willing to change anything about it right now. So, to my dear customers: eat what you want, and I’ll do the same. And maybe if you’re nice, I’ll share.
note to someone who knows who they are: This blog is the best birthday present ever. You are wonderful.
bah.
And if you are skinny, then you’ve bought that veggie because you have deep, stern moral convictions about your food. Not, mind you, because it looked good. Having sat on both sides of the ‘my body doesn’t fit the magazine cut-out’ roar, neither really appeals.
when did food become a matter of will power, or moral choice, rather than the medium for pleasure? Using food to create a shared moment of friendship, family and community?
okay, it’s a rhetorical question. Screw the question. Instead, c’mon over, let’s eat something good. Possibly discuss pasties.
(and happy belated birthday)