Helpful Hints for Old Navy Shoppers

Dear Old Navy Shoppers, please stop the following immediately:

1. Acting like the store is your personal closet. This means don't ball unwanted clothes up, throw them into a pile or leaving bodily fluids on them. We don't have a washer/dryer.

2. Treating associates like slaves. We're not here to hold your clothing for you while you try things on or dote on you. We can't ignore all the other customers and we're getting paid WAYYYY to little to be your personal stylist.

3. Ignoring the signs and price tickets. Just read the sign. It explains everything you need to know. Consider retaking remedial math or carry a calculator to figure out our very basic discounts.

4. Bringing your brats (a.k.a.: grandchildren, kids, nieces, nephews etc). They pull shit off the shelves, get sticky snack crap everywhere and climb on clothing racks.

5. Complaining about the prices. We already have cheap, cheap prices. Don't ask for additional discounts for things in the super-duper clearance sections. It's as far down in price as we can go. Does it really matter when last year's sweaters are $0.67, anyway?

6. Leaving your finished Starbucks, Jamba Juice, Jack-in-the-Box cups on the shelves. Nasty, gross. Just disgusting. WE HAVE TRASH BINS.

7. Being offended when we say hi or ask if you need anything. We are REQUIRED to do this and if we don't, we get a poor review. We're not going to keep hounding you if you just say hi back and say that you're finding everything okay or that you don't need help. You don't need to be rude about it.

8. Commenting that our job is easy or that it isn't hard work. Obviously you have never worked retail. You'd be surprised to learn that I'm working a back-breaking, patience-testing and intellectually vapid position as a cancer survivor with a Master's degree. I would choose a day of chemo or a challenging, advanced degree over retail work ANY day.

9. Asking when our next clearance sale is. Sales associate monkeys, like myself, have no way of knowing this. We walk in and get told what sales/deals are happening. We get zero ahead notice.

10. Asking me if I like this or that. I have no idea what to say. Even when I do, the customers never agree with me anyway. My default from now on is, "yes" no matter how damned hideous it looks on you. It is much easier to just lie from now on.

11. Getting angry if we ask for your email address at check-out. Again, this is something we are required to ask for and you DO get a coupon. If you don't want it just say, "No thank you". Don't act like it is invasive that we asked or assume that we're trying to scam you. TRUST ME, I don't like the idea either and I don't want to type in your girly, 10th grade email address or perverted, web-stalker pedophile screen name, such as unicorn_fluppypuppy_rainbow_chickk@hotmail.com or thick_n_hard69@yahoo.com.

12. Hanging things up for us instead of letting the fitting room attendant do it. I know that this isn't something that you do maliciously and in a perfect world, it would be very very helpful. Please listen: IT ISN'T. When you leave with things, we assume you're going to buy them. When you hang them back up, you're not going to hang them properly, then things get tangled (especially tank tops, swim suits, spaghetti strap dresses and such), improperly folded, misplaced, or they end up on the floor, only to get soiled. We have to sweep through the departments and then rearrange, process and fix all of the things that get broken, tangled or mis-sorted through this process. It takes us MORE time to do that than if you just left the things you didn't want with me. Also, we get docked points on our CES reports for a messy, unorganized store. Just let the professionals hang things up to the corporate standard.

13. Assuming that just because something was on the table with so and so discount doesn't necessarily mean that it is guaranteed to get the discount. Sometimes messy customers like yourself will just drop crap on to the discount table. Don't get angry with us at check-out and try to squeeze a discount out of it just because an item was misplaced. It's not going to happen.

14. Asking us if item X is going to shrink. If it is 100% cotton, what do you think? Try washing it in cold water, air drying it, or using Woolite instead of just randomly tossing it into the washer with boiling hot water. In sum: Take care of your clothes, people.


15. Returning items from last Christmas. Please, dear god, just try things on before you buy them or try to expediently get your lazy butt back into the nearest Old Navy when you have a return. You are NOT getting the full ticket price refund when its over 2-years old. It's hardly worth it for us to do the mark-down and put it back into the clearance section.

16. Interrupting the check-out process with last minute decisions and nay-says. Examine the stuff you got before you get to the check out line. It takes us so much more time to get you through when you keep changing your mind about items. Don't just throw stuff into your bag. Carefully think about each thing you're buying before going up to purchase it.

17. Assuming that I am of lower intelligence because I work a retail job. Yeah, sure, this is a job for banal high school students but I just so happen to be, unfortunately, living in a small town and between finishing my Master's degree and starting a Ph.D. program this fall. I just need something to pay the bills until then, so at least don't assume anything, pay me a little respect and don't talk to me like I'm an idiot.

18. Ignoring the other effing signs. Do you know how much time I waste per shift taking a customer by the hand like a two year old and guiding them to the bathroom or fitting rooms? Even if they are less than 10 feet away? WE HAVE SIGNSSSSSSSS

How to Answer "What's it like to have cancer?"

I love this. It sums up everything I want and need to say to people who ask me, "What was it like to have cancer?"


The Spoon Theory

by Christine Miserandino
My best friend and I were in the diner, talking. As usual, it was very late and we were eating French fries with gravy. Like normal girls our age, we spent a lot of time in the diner while in college, and most of the time we spent talking about boys, music or trivial things, that seemed very important at the time. We never got serious about anything in particular and spent most of our time laughing.


As I went to take some of my medicine with a snack as I usually did, she watched me with an awkward kind of stare, instead of continuing the conversation. She then asked me out of the blue what it felt like to have Lupus and be sick. I was shocked not only because she asked the random question, but also because I assumed she knew all there was to know about Lupus. She came to doctors with me, she saw me walk with a cane, and throw up in the bathroom. She had seen me cry in pain, what else was there to know?

I started to ramble on about pills, and aches and pains, but she kept pursuing, and didn’t seem satisfied with my answers. I was a little surprised as being my roommate in college and friend for years; I thought she already knew the medical definition of Lupus. Then she looked at me with a face every sick person knows well, the face of pure curiosity about something no one healthy can truly understand. She asked what it felt like, not physically, but what it felt like to be me, to be sick.

As I tried to gain my composure, I glanced around the table for help or guidance, or at least stall for time to think. I was trying to find the right words. How do I answer a question I never was able to answer for myself? How do I explain every detail of every day being effected, and give the emotions a sick person goes through with clarity. I could have given up, cracked a joke like I usually do, and changed the subject, but I remember thinking if I don’t try to explain this, how could I ever expect her to understand. If I can’t explain this to my best friend, how could I explain my world to anyone else? I had to at least try.

At that moment, the spoon theory was born. I quickly grabbed every spoon on the table; hell I grabbed spoons off of the other tables. I looked at her in the eyes and said “Here you go, you have Lupus”. She looked at me slightly confused, as anyone would when they are being handed a bouquet of spoons. The cold metal spoons clanked in my hands, as I grouped them together and shoved them into her hands.

I explained that the difference in being sick and being healthy is having to make choices or to consciously think about things when the rest of the world doesn’t have to. The healthy have the luxury of a life without choices, a gift most people take for granted.

Most people start the day with unlimited amount of possibilities, and energy to do whatever they desire, especially young people. For the most part, they do not need to worry about the effects of their actions. So for my explanation, I used spoons to convey this point. I wanted something for her to actually hold, for me to then take away, since most people who get sick feel a “loss” of a life they once knew. If I was in control of taking away the spoons, then she would know what it feels like to have someone or something else, in this case Lupus, being in control.

She grabbed the spoons with excitement. She didn’t understand what I was doing, but she is always up for a good time, so I guess she thought I was cracking a joke of some kind like I usually do when talking about touchy topics. Little did she know how serious I would become?

I asked her to count her spoons. She asked why, and I explained that when you are healthy you expect to have a never-ending supply of “spoons”. But when you have to now plan your day, you need to know exactly how many “spoons” you are starting with. It doesn’t guarantee that you might not lose some along the way, but at least it helps to know where you are starting. She counted out 12 spoons. She laughed and said she wanted more. I said no, and I knew right away that this little game would work, when she looked disappointed, and we hadn’t even started yet. I’ve wanted more “spoons” for years and haven’t found a way yet to get more, why should she? I also told her to always be conscious of how many she had, and not to drop them because she can never forget she has Lupus.

I asked her to list off the tasks of her day, including the most simple. As, she rattled off daily chores, or just fun things to do; I explained how each one would cost her a spoon. When she jumped right into getting ready for work as her first task of the morning, I cut her off and took away a spoon. I practically jumped down her throat. I said ” No! You don’t just get up. You have to crack open your eyes, and then realize you are late. You didn’t sleep well the night before. You have to crawl out of bed, and then you have to make your self something to eat before you can do anything else, because if you don’t, you can’t take your medicine, and if you don’t take your medicine you might as well give up all your spoons for today and tomorrow too.” I quickly took away a spoon and she realized she hasn’t even gotten dressed yet. Showering cost her spoon, just for washing her hair and shaving her legs. Reaching high and low that early in the morning could actually cost more than one spoon, but I figured I would give her a break; I didn’t want to scare her right away. Getting dressed was worth another spoon. I stopped her and broke down every task to show her how every little detail needs to be thought about. You cannot simply just throw clothes on when you are sick. I explained that I have to see what clothes I can physically put on, if my hands hurt that day buttons are out of the question. If I have bruises that day, I need to wear long sleeves, and if I have a fever I need a sweater to stay warm and so on. If my hair is falling out I need to spend more time to look presentable, and then you need to factor in another 5 minutes for feeling badly that it took you 2 hours to do all this.

I think she was starting to understand when she theoretically didn’t even get to work, and she was left with 6 spoons. I then explained to her that she needed to choose the rest of her day wisely, since when your “spoons” are gone, they are gone. Sometimes you can borrow against tomorrow’s “spoons”, but just think how hard tomorrow will be with less “spoons”. I also needed to explain that a person who is sick always lives with the looming thought that tomorrow may be the day that a cold comes, or an infection, or any number of things that could be very dangerous. So you do not want to run low on “spoons”, because you never know when you truly will need them. I didn’t want to depress her, but I needed to be realistic, and unfortunately being prepared for the worst is part of a real day for me.

We went through the rest of the day, and she slowly learned that skipping lunch would cost her a spoon, as well as standing on a train, or even typing at her computer too long. She was forced to make choices and think about things differently. Hypothetically, she had to choose not to run errands, so that she could eat dinner that night.

When we got to the end of her pretend day, she said she was hungry. I summarized that she had to eat dinner but she only had one spoon left. If she cooked, she wouldn’t have enough energy to clean the pots. If she went out for dinner, she might be too tired to drive home safely. Then I also explained, that I didn’t even bother to add into this game, that she was so nauseous, that cooking was probably out of the question anyway. So she decided to make soup, it was easy. I then said it is only 7pm, you have the rest of the night but maybe end up with one spoon, so you can do something fun, or clean your apartment, or do chores, but you can’t do it all.

I rarely see her emotional, so when I saw her upset I knew maybe I was getting through to her. I didn’t want my friend to be upset, but at the same time I was happy to think finally maybe someone understood me a little bit. She had tears in her eyes and asked quietly “Christine, How do you do it? Do you really do this everyday?” I explained that some days were worse then others; some days I have more spoons then most. But I can never make it go away and I can’t forget about it, I always have to think about it. I handed her a spoon I had been holding in reserve. I said simply, “I have learned to live life with an extra spoon in my pocket, in reserve. You need to always be prepared.”

Its hard, the hardest thing I ever had to learn is to slow down, and not do everything. I fight this to this day. I hate feeling left out, having to choose to stay home, or to not get things done that I want to. I wanted her to feel that frustration. I wanted her to understand, that everything everyone else does comes so easy, but for me it is one hundred little jobs in one. I need to think about the weather, my temperature that day, and the whole day’s plans before I can attack any one given thing. When other people can simply do things, I have to attack it and make a plan like I am strategizing a war. It is in that lifestyle, the difference between being sick and healthy. It is the beautiful ability to not think and just do. I miss that freedom. I miss never having to count “spoons”.

After we were emotional and talked about this for a little while longer, I sensed she was sad. Maybe she finally understood. Maybe she realized that she never could truly and honestly say she understands. But at least now she might not complain so much when I can’t go out for dinner some nights, or when I never seem to make it to her house and she always has to drive to mine. I gave her a hug when we walked out of the diner. I had the one spoon in my hand and I said “Don’t worry. I see this as a blessing. I have been forced to think about everything I do. Do you know how many spoons people waste everyday? I don’t have room for wasted time, or wasted “spoons” and I chose to spend this time with you.”

Ever since this night, I have used the spoon theory to explain my life to many people. In fact, my family and friends refer to spoons all the time. It has been a code word for what I can and cannot do. Once people understand the spoon theory they seem to understand me better, but I also think they live their life a little differently too. I think it isn’t just good for understanding Lupus, but anyone dealing with any disability or illness. Hopefully, they don’t take so much for granted or their life in general. I give a piece of myself, in every sense of the word when I do anything. It has become an inside joke. I have become famous for saying to people jokingly that they should feel special when I spend time with them, because they have one of my “spoons”.

© Christine Miserandino

http://www.butyoudontlooksick.com/articles/written-by-christine/the-spoon-theory-written-by-christine-miserandino/

Only in Idaho

This interesting interaction occurred while I was buying an energy drink at a convenience store.

Cashier: "Will that be all?"

Me: "Yep, that's it."

Creepster Trucker in line behind me: "I had one of those energy drinks the other day, except it tasted like lemonade. Yup...tasted good with rum."

Me: "....."


Only in Idaho.

The joys (and woes) of working retail

So, you know that I'm working at Old Navy for the summer. I just started last week and today I was getting trained in the fitting room. My trainer was going through how to hang items properly (called "processing"), how to re-tag merchandise, returning unwanted items to the sales floor and how to help customers find other sizes and colors. A young lady comes in with an armful of bikinis and I, naturally, greet her and open up a fitting room for her. After several minutes, I walk by her room and ask her if she needs a different size or color. She hands me a bikini bottom and asks for another size in that color. The runner assisting me goes to fetch the new size and I start processing the unwanted pile of clothes. When I get to the bikini she tried on, it had been thoroughly soiled with...god...who knows what that was. Menstrual blood? Poo? It took me all of my strength to expediently grab a plastic bag and wash my hands without barfing right then and there. I didn't want to embarrass the customer, so I asked her if everything fit alright and she just smiled and piled on the other unwanted items. Lo and behold, I find ANOTHER with some more disgusting fluids on it. I simply CAN'T BELIEVE that she would just return the items like that to me, piling it on top of other, clean and perfectly good merchandise. I bag that up ASAP and tell my leader what I found. She laughed, apparently totally grossed out too, saying, "That happens a lot. Just mark it as damaged and we'll get rid of it". ughhhhhhhh *shudder* THIS is why I hate, hate, hate retail.

But then there are some days where it is just downright hilarious to be working in retail. Okay, so it's my first day working on the cash register. I've been told that men are very different from women when they shop. If men can't find something, they won't ask. They'll just drop everything and leave without so much as a peep. If they don't see it displayed in an outfit on a mannequin, it is pretty unlikely that they'll actually be able to put anything together independently. So, back to the cash register. Add this story to the weird things men do when they shop: Two guys walk up with merchandise, chatting. They place their items on the register. I ask, "Are these items together?" thinking that maybe the friend was picking up the other's purchase. The two of them state in strong unison, "NO", reaching for their items and separating them so they're not touching on the register's table. I had to laugh, because me asking if the two clothing items were to be purchased at the same time was like I was asking them if THEY were together. They had to prove just how now gay they were by taking two steps away from each other and look in different directions, holding their items separately. It's like the two guy friends that can't go to the movies and sit next to each other without it being "gay", so they sit at least two seats apart from each other just so it doesn't look strange to others.

Oh retail.. How I haven't missed you.

The "Cancer Patient" Label

PROCEED WITH CAUTION: Possible triggers plus a dash feminist rage.
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The best class I ever took at Smith was Medical Sociology. Since having cancer, I've been reading up on the sociology of illness and it helped me cope with the "cancer" label that seems to follow me everywhere I go. It's true that illnesses dictate social scripts; the "sick" and the "well" are supposed to act in very specific ways. I definitely don't fit the script for the typical "cancer survivor" and usually societal forces are constantly trying to pull me back into the "sick" role with the constant pity and inappropriate questions and comments.

Cancer seems to be very important in our culture. Watching television commercials for fundraisers such as "Race for the Cure", for breast cancer awareness/research, is a fantastic example of how individuals with cancer are portrayed and perceived by our society. We are expected to be spiritual, humble, grateful, optimistic, quiet, calm, sorrowful and passive in our demands. We are expected to welcome the inquiries regarding our health and treatment, no matter how invasive. (I can't recall the number of times people ask me an offensive question ending with, "You don't mind, do you?") We're expected to be in either a state of extreme sorrow or extreme optimism. We're not allowed to experience the vast spectrum of human emotions. If we have a bad day/angry/frustrated, we're supposed to just "feel lucky to be alive". If we're too happy/optimistic, we have to remember how bad it was/is to have cancer and how "sick" we really are inside. Remember, cancer survivors, it could come back any time! We are expected to inform everyone around us, even strangers, of our cancer/survivor status and what kind of cancer we have. Why is that? Is having cancer a marginalized status? I can't decide for sure having experienced a variety of reactions; but I am beginning to believe that being a "sick person", more specifically a "sick woman", is a marginalized status. (Not to mention that I am also a "sick Queer woman", but my Queer status almost never surfaces unless my physician asks about my sexual history or I mention a past relationship)

The dental tech made it a spectacle. My primary doctor that discovered my cancer had no empathy. My oncologists assumed that, having female organs and presenting as a woman, that I wished to preserve my eggs/ovaries for pregnancy/birth. My parents' friends and even other cancer survivors pity me because of my age. People exclaim with surprise if my cancer status comes up and then say "I'm so sorry.." (lol, I'm not dead, people!). Some point at the keloid scar that was once the location of my port and ask me how I got that "nasty scar" on my chest. Neighbors sometimes get our mail accidentally and when they knock to return to me, they casually ask why I'm getting letters from Seattle Cancer Care Alliance. There are even hierarchies within the types of cancer and choices in treatment. When I tell people I had Hodgkin's Lymphoma, they scoff and say that its easy to treat/was the first type of cancer ever treated/very responsive to treatment.. blah blah blah. Yeah, but it was cancer. Cancer is cancer and it is never easy.

It seems that the majority of mainstream resources for cancer survivors are the Chicken-Soup variety, rather than the science-driven knowledge that we crave and need to maintain healthy lives and make decisions about our care/treatment. While yes, the touchy-feely books can be helpful (I have a couple myself), they closely align with our expectations of the sick; to be concerned with the soul, spirit and quality of our (remaining) life as if we have a shrinking Bucket List to fulfill before we kick it. I'm expected to "make every moment count". I can't waste my time with frivolous things nor can I live on "borrowed time" as my grandmother constantly reminds me.

Along that line, people usually ask WHEN (not if) I'm having children since I'm in a monogamous relationship with a man. While I'm in remission, I should probably try to squeeze out a few puppies before I become utterly useless. For many sick women, illness/treatments often impact the essential roles that female bodied people are expected to play in society, especially the expectation that they fulfill child-bearing functions. When radiation threatens our ovaries, we are expected to want to "save our womanhood" with invasive ovarian shielding surgeries (http://www.uptodate.com/contents/oophoropexy-and-ovarian-transposition) and when chemotherapy affects our reproductive system, it is referred to as "ovarian failure". Why is it a 'failure'? When we have breast cancer, we are expected to choose less successful surgical options to preserve the shape and appeal of our breast(s) instead of procedures that secure a clean margin of error. Afterwards, we stare in the mirror at our bodies permanently marked by scars, skin discoloration, and the remains of medical devices, wondering if we will still be sexually appealing to our partners. Wondering if we will ever feel whole again. If we can't save our breast(s) or preserve our youth, we feel like half-women, damaged women, useless women. Conversely, if you're an openly lesbian woman, your breasts, uterus and ovaries are assumed to be of no use in the heteronormative context of medicine and therefore assumed to be of no consequence to you, the cancer patient. Because you're gay, you're assumed to have no interest in pregnancy. You won't use it any way, right? How you look after treatment doesn't matter to you since you're a lesbian.

How do you explain? How do you cope with the constant inquiries and assumptions? Why does cancer hold such sway? Why can't we as a society find a balance among empathy, privacy and equity?

"Sick" female-bodied people and women just can't win in this institution. I can't speak beyond my own experiences, but I am sure that there are other unique barriers that people with cancer experience, complicated by their relative status in the social hierarchy. One thing is for sure; the "cancer patient" label is here to stay.

Triggering Comment

I went in to see the dentist to get an impression of my teeth. I grind my teeth at night, causing me to have severe neck, jaw and forehead pain. So, I'm getting a small retainer to help prevent me from grinding my teeth at night. I had just finished getting the impressions done and the dental tech was scheduling a fitting appointment for me. She typed in my name, asking me to verify how it was spelled and began scrolling through what was apparently my file.

After a short pause, she said aloud, "WOW! Heart murmur...chemotherapy...radiation?! That's the sort of stuff you see in OLD people. How old ARE you?"
I was shocked, but still answered her question, "...26".
"You're young! You've been through A LOT! Cancer's all gone now, right?", she said handing me an appointment card.
"Yeah."

I left the dentist feeling horribly violated and felt as if my personal history was on spectacle for this woman. I know that she meant well, but it was hurtful, triggering and painful for me to have someone compare my state of health to that of an old, frail person. Don't you think that might make someone feel pretty damned bad, being reminded of how sickly their body is? It is not appropriate to openly discuss that person's medical history at the appointment desk, especially if it was not relevant to the task at hand, which was to make a follow-up appointment for a retainer. It would have been totally different had it been relevant to my treatment and was discussed in the private treatment rooms, LIKE NORMAL MEDICAL PROCEDURE. Why is it that everyone thinks it is okay to practically announce my past cancer diagnosis, make it the point of conversation or assume that I want to talk about it with a stranger? Having had cancer and go through treatment is no fucking victory for me. Ask me ANYTHING else! Do I have pets? What do you do? Are you a student? What does your partner do? What TV shows do you watch? ET CETERA. How hard is it to choose something else to discuss while you're waiting with a patient?

Rude, rude, rude. I will definitely be sending them a letter.