Two Sides to Every Story (it would appear)

Did I ever tell you about that time I was mistaken for a, ‘working girl’ (his words, not mine)?

No, I’m not talking about someone who holds a steady 9-5, or sells lemonade. I’m talking about a sex worker. Someone who hits the pavement to turn tricks. X-rated tricks. For money. Or perhaps drugs? Admittedly, I’m not actually terribly well versed in the ways of sex workers…

So, I had just dropped my tiny humans off at school and needed to grab a few staples for the pantry. Specifically English muffins. We LOVE English muffins at our house. I actually went through a phase in my life where I was so in love with them that I would refrain from eating them - panicked at the thought of running out- and would ultimately have to throw them out as they’d go moldy from not being eaten. Ugh, such a cruel world.... and flawed logic.... Having learned from my previous errors in rational, I now just buy English muffins en masse so we can all enjoy them whenever we feel the need.

Ok, moving on…. I had just dropped my kids off at school, grabbed my powder pink market basket from my car and, traversing the busy parking lot, I headed towards the entrance (so by this time it’s probably 0845. Again, it was before 9am in the morning, and there were people everywhere!). After my bits of shopping I was headed to a fitness studio to teach a class, thus, I was dressed in (adorable) leggings and a (super cute) oversized top (I know, I know. I can practically hear my husband’s eyes rolling wondering when I’m not dressed in leggings and an oversized top!). My point is, I thought I was giving off an, ‘I’m an active, health and environmentally conscious lady of society’ vibe. Turns out, others had a wildly different interpretation of the vibe I was giving out…

With my head slightly in the clouds, swinging my basket, a car slowly crept towards me and then stopped. This particular car managed to pull me out of the clouds because it was so strange, and I had never seen it before (nor have I seen it since- thank goodness!). It was low, and loud, with some sort of hood scoop and many colours. It was old enough to look dated and tacky, but not old enough to look vintage. Much like the driver… As the car pulled to a stop beside me, a nicotine stained beard and nicotine stained breath swirled out the driver’s side window. It was all I could do not to physically recoil into the car behind me.

‘Are you working?’, was the question hurled at me from inside the grimy car. Now, perhaps it’s because I grew up in the loving arms of a small rural community - or maybe it’s because I am slightly naive, but in any event, I honestly thought he was asking if I was an employee of the grocery store, and answered him as such. My misunderstanding seemed to annoy him, so he kindly rephrased his question for me, in a very gruff tone.

‘No. Are you working?? Are you a working girl?? Don’t tell me you’re not. You look like you’re a working girl.’

Ooooooh. Shoot. 😳

Inexplicably, I felt the need to defend my actions -and my outfit- to this creepy man (Oh, no no, Sir. I’m so sorry to confuse you. I’m just buying a large quantity of English muffins for my family, and then I’m teaching a fitness class…). And I’m not totally sure if he was embarrassed by missing his mark so blatantly? Or maybe he was trying to make me feel worse that I already did, or perhaps he was really trying to help me out? But after I explained I was, in fact, not going to get into his car and was instead going to get groceries, he proceeded to give me a lecture about how irresponsible I was regarding my personal safety! That if I was not in the parking lot to offer my sexual services I had no business being there- what else were men like him supposed to think?

Ok, Mister….a couple of things…1) WHAT THE?!?! And B) the business I have in the grocery store parking lot (in the light of day, I might add) is GROCERY SHOPPING.

Sadly, I said none of those things out loud and instead hightailed it back to my car, empty basket in hand. Once safely locked in, slightly rattled, I called my husband, and sort of laugh/cried as I told him what had happened. He made sure I was ok with all kinds of soothing questions, and wasn’t even slightly disappointed when I told him that after all the drama, I didn’t end up getting English muffins…

The exchange I had with the stranger left me feeling almost as rank as him accusing me of looking like someone who would willingly follow him into a dark corner. It still makes me shudder - especially when I get hit by a wave of feelings of disgust and rage over someone thinking it's ok to use desperate hearts and bodies so callously and carelessly. This, in turn, makes me feel so sad for those who are so desperate they do willingly follow others into those dank, dark corners.

It took me a really long time to go back to that grocery store alone, and at first I was really frustrated that I had let that man get under my skin and question my actions, and outfits! ‘They’ do say that perception is reality. But if that is the case, then who’s perception gets to call shotgun on the reality? Because I gotta tell ya - I was only there to buy breakfast.... I can’t imagine how scary and lonely it would feel to wander the streets without a basket to fill or people close to you - trying to find some sort of light in those lonely corners. I am so lucky that I live a loving life, surrounded and supported by amazing people who tend to share a version of what my reality looks like.

(I would also like to note that I feel extremely lucky that I was able to walk away from that encounter with nothing more than an eyeball-rolling story to share. Also very pleased to say that I have never seen that man, or that car again!).