Salmon and Souvlaki

Yesterday morning, I needed to buy yard waste bags because I am desperately trying to finish up one last yard work project before winter hits.  I have a pile of mulch on our driveway that just refuses to die.  And so I keep on digging up sod and making a new garden bed, which will hopefully hold fruit trees come next spring.

It doesn’t hurt that this Friday is the last day that the county will be picking up yard waste for the year.  So I have a little fire lit under me to get this job done.

But we were out of trash bags.

So Ellie and I went to Home Depot.  I found the aisle with the bags but didn’t see what I needed.  So I asked for help.  The Home Depot employee took me back to the same aisle and said, “Oh I’m sorry.  We’re out of what you’re looking for.  Have you thought about using the paper bags instead?”

I replied, “I can’t use the paper bags because I’m getting rid of sod which is wet and heavy.”

He replied, “Oh, if you’re getting rid of sod, you should use these contractor bags.  They’re super strong and durable.  You wouldn’t want to use anything else.” (Or something like that.)

Here’s what I said next: “Oh right.  Interesting.  Thanks for your help.”

Here’s what the employee probably walked away thinking:  “That girl didn’t know anything about trash bags.  It’s a good thing she asked for my advice.”

Here’s what I was thinking: “There’s no way in the world I’m going to buy contractor bags for this job.  I know what they are – I worked at a construction company for two years for Pete’s sake! Besides, even though they’re super strong, I don’t need that strength because I don’t even fill the bags that full anyway.  They get too heavy to move.  So contractor bags would be a waste of plastic and money.  I think I’ll just buy those large trash bags there which are tear resistant and I’m sure they’ll work fine.”

Here’s what I did: I waited until the guy left, I looked at all my options, and then I bought the large trash bags which cost a dollar or so less than the contractor bags and which also got me 30 more bags.  Then I slunk out of the aisle and went to pay, hoping that the guy wouldn’t see me and realize that I’d done something different than what he’d recommended.

Here’s what I should have said:  “Actually, contractor bags aren’t going to work for me because I don’t need to fill the bags that full and I don’t want to buy such expensive bags.  I think I’ll look at what’s left and choose the next best option.  Thanks for your help anyway.”

Why did I feel like I had to act like I was a helpless girl and so grateful to him for his help, you big strong smart man?  Why did I worry about him seeing me buying something else?  Why couldn’t I just stick up for myself?

Nik and I are reading Protecting the Gift, in light of the scandal at Penn State and other incidents of child abuse.  He talks about how we teach our kids, but particularly our girls, to be nice above all else, to their detriment.  With our actions, if not with our words we teach that even if that guy gives you the creeps, even if you really do know what’s going on and don’t need any help, still be nice to him!  And no, I’m not saying that the Home Depot guy gave me the creeps but I allowed my desire to be judged as nice to win over speaking the truth.  (All of this, I might add, unconsciously as I didn’t even think about this until I was using the bags a couple hours later.)

And that’s ridiculous.  I want Ellie to grow up, strong and confident in her ability to advocate for herself, to advocate for other who are helpless, and to understand that being viewed as nice really isn’t all that important, in the scheme of things.

And that starts with me.  So from now on, when I go into Home Depot (or anywhere else for that matter), I’m planning to practice speaking the truth.  Speaking the truth respectfully and gratefully, but the truth all the same.  And I hope that when Ellie sees the way I advocate for myself and for her, she will understand that she too has a voice.  She too is strong.  She too has value.  And she too can speak the truth.