Letter to the CVS Man

Dear enthusiastic employee at CVS,

Before I begin, I just want you to know that I think you are lovely. You attempt to make conversations with those around you and even offered to help me with my purchases out to my non-existent car. I’m sure that you meant well in all things but I just want to point out what you did was enlightening but hurtful.

This last week, it was around 8:30 PM and I realized I had no food in my apartment. I had experienced a difficult day and the last thing I wanted was to eat the can of refried beans sitting all lonely in my kitchen cupboard. I bundled up in my warmest coat, put some gloves on, and even put on my hipster ankle boots. I didn’t bother to touch-up my face and hair. After all, I was literally just going to buy vitamin water and a frozen burrito. And probably lipstick. Just because I have a hard time saying no to beautiful makeup. But that’s besides the point.

It was cold outside. My skin crackled from the cold and my breath came out in huge clouds of awfulness. I had flashbacks of the coldest days on my mission and I shuddered in response.

“I should have just eaten the refried beans.”

I walked into CVS and my glasses immediately fogged up. I walked straight to the make-up section. Picked out a few shades of lipstick that I really liked and put them in my basket. I then made my way over to the frozen burritos. Don’t judge. Sometimes you just have to have awfully processed food. Especially on bad days.

You walked up to me and asked me if I needed help with anything. Here’s how our conversation went:

Employee: “Do you need any help, ma’am?”

Me: “Oh, I am just picking out what frozen burrito is calling my name *wink*.”

Employee: *laughter* “Well, we all get cravings.”

Me: “Absolutely.”

Employee: “So, when are you due?”

*Insert dead silence*

I looked at him in amazement.

Employee: “I’d love to help you carry your things out to your car. It’s so cold and in your condition..yeah…just let me know when you’re ready to check-out.”

*more silence*

I kept staring at you. Giving you the “Hannah” look. (If you have questions about that, just ask my close friends. It exists.)

Employee: “Oh, hell. You’re not pregnant, are you?”

Me: “Bingo.”

Employee: “I am so sorry…um…yeah…if you need anything just let me know.”

You shuffled away so quickly that I could have sworn your shoes were on fire.

Let me preface my next rant by saying that I don’t need sympathy nor do I want it.

Who has the right to comment on someone else’s appearance? What in my demeanor prompted you to ask if I was expecting a child? Was it the friendly persona that I put off? Oh, it must have been. Or what about my twinkling eyes as I greeted you by your name and asked you how your day was? Definitely. Oh, I figured it out. You asked me that because you thought I had the “pregnancy glow”. That must have been it.

NO.

You asked me because I’m fat. The fact that I was wearing a beautiful purple pea-coat that made me feel beautiful completely forgotten in my “pregnancy” induced brain. I could chalk it up to just some “man comment” that we women must endure because sometimes men (or women) say things that are absolutely ridiculous.

But, I don’t believe in excuses.

Memories started to flood through my brain as I stood alone in the frozen food aisle of the local CVS.

Fifth Grade: “You’re like a sumo-wrestler that wears a thong!”

Seventh Grade: “You’re not cool enough to be in our group.”

High School: “I’m so glad that you’re in this show, we need all sorts of sizes of people on the stage.”

Mission: “You could be beautiful. You just choose to look like you do.”

Post-Mission: “Are you pregnant?”

My eyes suddenly filled with tears. I really had no idea how much those comments had affected me over the years. I had kept them all bottled up and hidden away because honestly, who wants to deal with that? Who wants to face the reality that people have a false perception of you? As human beings, we usually want to be loved for who we are. It is something that I have always craved and now I understand why. I needed people to love me. And I tried so hard. I wore high heels my first day of high school because I thought it would make me seem more mature. I put on make-up every single day of junior high and high school because heaven forbid anyone saw what my face really looked like. I eventually realized that I would never fit the “mold” of a beauty. So, I developed my brain and other talents. I joined the advanced speech and debate team, won several competitions and competed on the national level. I was good at talking in front of other people and the rush that I felt when they listened to me was addicting. Finally, people not only wanted to listen to me orate, they had to listen to me. I joined choir. Tried out for every solo and every opportunity. I signed up for voice lessons with the encouragement from my parents. My senior year, I won the state vocal tournament by a landslide. I joined the honor society council. People started to recognize that I was “special” and that I wasn’t “boring”. And even if I wasn’t pretty, I could find ways to make people like me.

How wrong I was.

Looking back, I can see how desperate I was. I just wanted other’s approval. I wasn’t doing any of those things for me. I just wanted to be noticed. Within those few minutes at CVS, I realized how empty I had been for a period in my life. My idea of happiness had been completely based on other’s acceptance of me and who I was.

I don’t blame anyone but myself. Yes, even you, Mr. CVS Man. Your comment may have been completely off-putting and required me to look back through my entire life and question how I feel about myself but I am so grateful for you. You helped me realize something that I don’t think I could have understood without your comments.

I am damn beautiful. I may have had bad experiences in the past. I have had people call me “Fat Amy” in public. I have had people make oinking noises at me as I got on my bus for middle school. I have faced rejection for my looks, my intellect, my voice–the list goes on and on.

And the fantastic thing?

Your. Opinion. Does. Not. Matter.

Your comment threw me off guard because I wasn’t expecting it. My esteem for myself started to crumble. All of my confidence stripped away within 20 seconds.

But, then I said, no.

You don’t get to determine how I feel about myself.

I am not that eager 17-year-old determined to make everyone love her for something.

I say if I’m beautiful enough. I say if I’m strong enough. I say if I’m talented enough. I say if I work hard enough.

Not you.

Your words will not determine my journey–I will. I have opinions to say. Dreams to have and dreams to fulfill. I have lipstick and yoga pants to wear. Not anyone or anything can stop me. And that’s how it should be.

XOXO, your customer at the local CVS,

Hannah