It's getting harder to buy groceries

The other night, on my way home from work, I stopped at the grocery store. I don’t buy the family groceries, but I frequently stop in after work to pick up the items that we forgot, ran out of, or have recently decided we’d like to eat. I am by far the biggest contributor to the new items on our grocery list, so I don’t mind being the one to stop in on my way home from work.

On this particular trip I picked up some eggs and a package of spring mix, which is really just a collection of different lettuces, with no actual ties to any particular season, and approached the check-out aisle.  I use the aisle that caters to those shoppers who only ever come to the grocery store on their way home from work, the one for eight items or fewer, and loaded my food onto the conveyor belt.

The woman working at the counter is someone I’ve seen several times before, never striking me as friendly or unfriendly, she’s just pleasant enough. My assessment of the check-out woman will factor into the story in just a bit.

While my eggs and spring mix took their short ride to the front of the line, the check-out woman noticed her co-worker walking by, pushing a cart loaded with boxes, apparently on her way to stock some shelves.

“Make sure you take it easy, Janice!” she yelled over my shoulder.

“I will,” said Janice.

Turning back to me, the check-out woman said, “She’s pregnant.”

“Ah,” I said. That’s what you say when you really have no reaction, but don’t want to seem like you don’t care at all.

“It’s not that bad,” she said.

“Hmm?” I asked. That’s what you say when you hadn’t said anything in the first place, making you wonder what the response is in reference to, while also wondering if the person you’re talking to believes they are able to read your mind.  

“Working here, it’s not that tiring for someone who’s pregnant.”

“Oh!” I said, wondering why she might think I was concerned about how tired Janice would be from her cart pushing and shelf stocking.

“I tended bar right up until my due date, it’s not that tiring,” she volunteered, now seeming surer of her ability to know and respond to my every unspoken thought.

“Oh, really?” I offered, though I hadn’t at any point expected her to provide me with details of her own pregnancy, had I known there was ever a pregnancy to discuss.  

“And there’s no reason to put on a lot of weight when you’re pregnant,” she added with the hint of disdain you might expect when talking to an infrequent grocery shopper who obviously had been misinformed about the proper weight gain of pregnant women and needed to be set straight.

“Nope,” she carried on, “when I was pregnant, I actually lost weight! I was 113 pounds when I got pregnant and 117 pounds after.”

Wait, what? That doesn’t even make—

“A woman should put on the weight of the baby, plus 10 pounds of water weight, and that’s it. There’s no reason for any woman to put on more than that.” I thought she might pound her fist on the conveyor belt or throw my spring mix at me for emphasis.

Though this check-out woman would have no way of knowing, I have two kids of my own, have witnessed many family members, friends and co-workers go through pregnancies and I know that being pregnant seems to turn you into a magnet for advice and criticism. But what I’d never witnessed before was the nerve one could strike simply by trying to buy some eggs and spring mix, actions so rarely associated with confrontation, and saying “Ah,” “Hmm?” and “Oh!” When did it become so acceptable to offer pregnancy advice that even infrequent grocery shoppers - men no less! - would have to worry about people dispelling myths they didn’t promote and stand corrected on thoughts they never had?

As I stood there, dumbfounded, I thought the following:

I don’t know why you’re telling me this...Hmm, I don’t even know your name, but I’m going to call you ‘Sally’ for the rest of this thought, not because it’s your name, quite likely it isn’t, but it makes it easier on me and I’m getting a little pleasure out of calling you a name I suspect to be wrong. Listen, Sally, I don’t know how I offended you with my spring mix and my eggs, or maybe it’s the fact that I don’t come in as often as some and sure, I only ever go to the aisle with eight items or fewer. But I follow your rules, I never exceed the eight items, except once and several of those items were the same thing (and there’s no way you even knew about that). I bring my own bags, even though I forget them half the time in my car because I don’t do this very often, but I try, Sally, I try. And yeah, I see that there’s now someone behind me who has three cans of cat food, a bottle of Diet Pepsi and some celery and I’m as confused as you are about how any of that goes together and I know that if this thought goes on too long, we’re going to have to open another line.

But Sally, you’re wrong about me. I don’t judge you or any other pregnant woman for the weight she gains, the shelves she stocks or the bar she tends. I think it’s weird that people just put their hands on the bellies of pregnant women without asking and think more people need to just stop doing that.  I wish more people would keep their opinions to themselves and unless some harm is going to come to a baby by not speaking up, can’t we please just let each woman experience her pregnancy her own way?

I am not going to ever benefit from your advice, I have never violated these rules, nor have I ever gained so much weight to warrant this lecture. I have no idea why you’re angry, how the conversation ever got this far, or why we couldn’t just stick to what I came in here for in the first place.

I need some eggs and spring mix.

And for the first time, I hoped she could read my mind.