There’s something I think about sometimes; something that happened to me years ago. It was hurtful at the time, but I don’t think of it because it was hurtful, I think of it because I don’t understand.
It was when I was homeless and living on the Gold Coast. I had no stable income. None. No Centrelink. I was lucky in that sometimes my parents could give me some money for shelter so all I had to worry about was food. Every now and then I would get a shift here or there and I would save that money for “proper” food. I would search bus stops, phone booths and internet kiosks for dropped coins. When I had $2 in coins, if Mint Slice biscuits were on special, I’d buy myself a packet as a treat.
This story relates to that. I’d finally got $2 that I could spare, and my favourite treat was on special at the supermarket, so I walked over to get a pack. I lined up at the only open register with my single packet of Mint Slices, when I heard the cashier loudly whisper to the customer in front of me, “Ugh! I don’t wanna serve this girl!” and yeah, I was the girl she didn’t want to serve. The customer in front of me let out a sort of confused laugh, like maybe the cashier was joking and not being incredibly rude. She leaned in and asked the cashier, “Why? What’s wrong with her?” by now I’ve passed embarrassed and gone into humiliated. All I want to do is buy my packet of biscuits I’ve literally saved up for for weeks. “Nothing,” replies the cashier, “I just don’t like her”.
The customer in front of me collected her bags and left very quickly. I payed for my biscuits with my head down and said, “I hope you enjoy the rest of your night.”
I thought about reporting her, but I was concerned she might lose her job, and I knew how horrible not having a job could be.
I never bought another packet of biscuits from that supermarket again.
I really don’t understand.
Just be kind.
Signed with hope,
The Pretty Kitty.