Work

© Erin Wright 2010

It was her fifth job of the year. She'd had a few of temp jobs in the spring, a summer job ending in her unsurprising dismissal, and had spent half of autumn looking, to end up taking one of the worst paid jobs in the area.
She was better than this. She knew she was lucky to be working at all at the moment; so many interviews had been soul-destroyingly terrible, that she had gone home after most and spent the rest of the day in tears. She was overqualified, she wasn't what they were looking for, the excuses were shallow and thin. She'd spent some interviews just sitting there while the interviewer bumbled through their list of question whilst trying to cover their embarrassment and shame.
Working for a small chain store on a busy road. Six years of university work to end up stacking shelves.
She put up with the public. The store's image meant she had to, even though, as usual, some people were just outright foul. The stares were bearably mild and unnoticeable, and her co-workers were at least a little sympathetic. She arrived, did her job, was a friendly team member, and went home at the end of her shifts.
She got into the swing of things quickly (temping had taught her that skill) and was quietly stacking jars of jam in their place when the shop floor supervisor came out and asked her to tidy up her work and come into the back room.
She marked this moment in her mind with the thought of “Here goes another job,” as she packed things back onto her trolley and wheeled it off the shop floor. Her supervisor was waiting for her.
“I've had a complaint,” her supervisor said.
“What's wrong?” she asked.
“It's about you using the toilets,” said her supervisor.
She blinked a moment while she processed this, she knew what it meant and what was coming next, but that didn't make it any easier to react.
“We'd like you to not use the women's toilets while you're at work here.” Said her supervisor.
Cycle a moment though the thoughts going through her mind. “Where do you expect me to go to the toilet? Out in the corridor? Out back in a rubbish bin?” No, too confrontational, she decided. “Would you just like to fire me and have done with it?” Also not a good gambit. Through her growing rage a little nugget of wisdom came through.
“No. It's discriminatory of you to ask, and I won't be subject to it.” She said.
Her supervisor stood a moment processing what had just been said to her. So far, she had been a model employee, courteous, helpful, accommodating and friendly. Why was she now turning on them, since they had done her such a favour in employing her.
“I have to refer this to the manager,” said her supervisor, “I don't know what company policy is here, but I thought you wouldn't mind.”
“Do. Not. Explode.” She thought to herself, “it will not help.”
“I've just been told I can't use the toilets at work. I'm highly offended, actually.” She said.
“I'm not saying you can't use the toilets, you can still use the men's.” Said her supervisor.
“I'm a woman,” she said, “why can't I use the women's toilets?”
“The complaint says you're a man.”
“You...” she paused a second, “you think I'm a man too? Is that why you're believing a complaint over me telling you, to your face, that I'm a woman?”
“I'm sorry, but...” Started her supervisor.
“But what? Forget it. I'm leaving.” She said, walking away, towards the staff room.
She purposefully went to the women's staff toilets before collecting her things and leaving.
This was how her summer job had ended too; much to her chagrin. She managed to make it home and put the kettle on before it hit her. The waves of adrenaline and rage wearing off and leaving only the bitter hurt behind. She sat down on the kitchen floor, sliding down gently with her back against the cupboards, and waves of tears flooded from her. This was how she ended the day her summer job ended too. Sat on her kitchen floor, wishing she'd never been born, that she'd never existed, that she could just be normal and treated with respect.
She ignored the click of the kettle and half-ran up the stairs before kicking off her shoes and collapsing in tears once more onto her bed.
A few hours later she came around a little. She was ready to make some tea and calm down a little. She put the kettle back on and dug out phone from her handbag, it was time to pass the news onto her friends. That would wait though, she had some missed calls, seven, from the store she just left. No messages had been left either, they'd been trying every half an hour since she left so she wasn't surprised when it started ringing in her hand.
“Hello?” She said.
The voice identified himself as the manager of the store. “I'm sorry about what happened earlier, I've been given all the details and been in touch with some legal advisers, and if you want to, I'd like you to come in to see me, so we can talk about what happened and make sure it doesn't happen again.”
Fine, she thought to herself, but I'm not going back to work there.