“All you do is stand around!” yelled the Dunkin’ manager. “You’ve been here five weeks, how’ve you not learned by now!”Â
You didn’t train me.
“Your coworker is so much better than you!”
Good for them.
“Why would you do that?”
I listen to this sorry piece of a man draw on for five excruciating minutes before he’s done squawking. Never in that time frame did I hear him say:
“I’m sorry.”
“Are you OK?”
“I was wrong.”
Perhaps I might’ve summarized it as the manager having a bad day; although this wasn’t his first offense berating a woman.Â
“Don’t do that!” He’d shout to the woman making a breakfast sandwich. Â
“You’re not paying attention” he’d exclaim to the woman cashing out a customer.Â
“Don’t go yet!” he’d scream to the woman desperately trying to get fresh air; and never, in all his pleasantry with male colleagues did I hear his voice raised.Â
I was done.Â
My mother ingrained in me early on the importance of standing up for yourself.Â
“Never let anyone walk all over you.” She would say. You can always find another job, friendship, school, et cetera. Nothing is worth being put down for—self-worth above everything else; even if it means leaving what you adore most. So, I chose my dignity and left the job.Â
In the following weeks, I applied to PetSmart, Duffs Famous Wings, Taco Bell and Tim Hortons without hearing so much as a chirp. It wasn’t until a random Tuesday rolled around that I applied to Wendy’s.Â
I was lounging on the couch, stuffing my face full of tiramisu in a sorry attempt to drown out my reality of being a broke college student when I received a text: “Hi Isabel, this is Wendy’s manager, I would love you to come in for an open interview, when are you available?”Â
Jumping up I type: “Hi, thank you for reaching out! I can come by tomorrow afternoon!”
My cat rubs against my leg asking for food. I ignore her.
 The neighbor’s voices waft through the wall. I ignore them.Â
I’m about to sit down when my phone chimes, “Great! See you then.”Â
A breath escapes my lungs, and my shoulders drop. I have an interview… and they seem nice.Â
My cat prods the now forgotten tiramisu pulling my thoughts away. I pick up my dessert moving to replace it with cat food while dialing the phone.
She answers on the second ring, “Hello?”
“Hi Mom, guess what, I got an interview!”