With my hair piled high on my head, a sloppy t-shirt on, and my favorite black swirly skirt, I pushed the buggy through the grocery line with one hand and held Drew in one arm.
The cashier in the next line noticed me and waved me over. I thanked him and slid my buggy closer to him.
He said, “Honey, this is WIC, right?”
For a second, I didn’t understand him and gave him a puzzled look.
Then it dawned on me. WIC provides Federal grant money to all States for nutritious foods for low-income pregnant, breastfeeding, and non-breastfeeding postpartum women, and to infants and children up to age five who are found to be at nutritional risk.
I was seriously curious as to why on earth he just IMMEDIATELY assumed that I was on WIC. But I smiled and shook my head no.
As he began emptying my buggy, he questioned me again. “This isn’t WIC, right?”
I sort of frowned and firmly said, “Right.” Seriously, dude. I am all for women and children getting help with nutritious food but why would you automatically assume that was my situation? And then bother to question me again?
As he rang up the final item, he told me my total and then said, “How old is your son?” I told him that he was almost sixteen months old and he told me that he has a nephew the same age. I got ready to swipe my debit card and then he said again…”are you sure this isn’t WIC?”
That’s when I suddenly felt, for the first time ever, some sort of discrimination. Some sort of frustration.
The cashier, a young black guy, had questioned me THREE times about whether I was on the WIC program and the ONLY reason I can possibly imagine is that I fit his profile for being someone on the program. I’m not fussy about someone thinking I need WIC or that I don’t. My frustration is why would you naturally assume that about someone…to the point of questioning them three times as though they couldn’t possibly know the truth themselves?
Maybe he thought I was a redneck woman in my t-shirt and flip-flops and maybe Drew’s snaggletooth grin was just an automatic heads up that we live in a trailer. 😛 I really don’t know.
But I’m positive if he’d followed me to McDonald’s across the street he’d been even MORE sure of his discriminatory thoughts.
Because I met my husband (who was passing through the SAME EXACT AREA) in the parking lot and we did a LOT of making out (to Drew’s frustration because he wasn’t the center of attention) like all good redneck couples do on Saturday night.
P.S. We also had been wondering what Drew would do when he saw Daniel but all he did was turn his head and shout, “LIIIIIIIGHT!”
Yeah. Great way to welcome your daddy home. 😉