It’s Official: I am an Amazonian

So I recently started a new job as a donation attendant at a well known thrift store, which I shall leave nameless for the sake of privacy.

Doing this job in the south is very unheard of, considering I’m a woman.  My manager told me this when he hired me, stating women rarely apply for this job.  When I started the job, I couldn’t understand why either.  Yes, it’s very physical, but there are a lot of women as short order cooks as well, and a lot of women who are waitresses, which I think is far more physical than any other job.  But this job, it’s a lot of lifting.  My job description even states that I will be lifting over 75 pounds at a time.

I’m totally okay with this.

My legs are going to look amazing.

FUCK YES!

FUCK YES!

 

However, I’m thinking that I must be an Amazonian.

Last week, I had a woman pull up to the donation door and open the back of her van.  She worked in the office part of our building and stated she wasn’t donating, but she needed some help.  Being as I wasn’t doing anything at that particular moment, I decided to step in and assist.

“Oh ma’am, you are going to need to get a man out here to lift theses boxes.  They’re way too heavy for a lady.”

I felt my blood pressure go up just a tad.  She continues.  “Also you’re going to need a flat bed.”

 

Strike one: She didn’t even ask me to get her boxes out of her car.

Strike two: She told me I had to have a man do it.

There are a few things that I am very certain of about myself.

I am stubborn.  I am not a lady. I am independent to a fault. I am caring.  I am Minnesota Nice.

And most importantly, I do not need a man to lift something for me.

So I go over to the box, ready to throw my back out to lift this box for this woman…

And the box was maybe ten pounds.

I tried not to roll my eyes, and this woman was just dumbfounded.  She told me that they were far too heavy for her to lift.  She then told me to bring them to her cubicle so I followed her there with the flatbed with the six boxes that were maybe ten pounds.

This is what really pissed me off.

She just watched me take all of these boxes off of this flatbed.  And not just her, every single person in the office watched me lift these boxes.

Since then, I have had four separate women tell me that I needed a man to lift something for me.  I always stay polite, but I usually respond with something along the lines of “I’m a corn-fed Midwesterner, I don’t need a man for anything.”

Which has caused everyone I work with to call me the “Minnesota Wonder Woman.”  Or to have customers ask me if I’m a “Yankee.”  Which apparently is the same as being called a Wonder Woman.

And Wonder Woman was an Amazonian warrior.

Basically me, just add more fat rolls and corn

Basically me, just add more fat rolls and corn

That’s right bitches.  I’m an Amazonian woman.  Because I can lift over ten pounds.

Advertisements

11 thoughts on “It’s Official: I am an Amazonian

  1. Nice to see you posting and thanks for letting me know, by the way!

    Younger sister #2’s nickname for a little while was “The Amazon.”

    Baby sister (younger sister #3) has a very unofficial nickname of “The Zealot”. Note: we love each other dearly. She’s still a zealot, though. Pleasant, cheery, but quite zealous. All my sisters are, but, she excels.

    I am Minnesota Nice.

    I am primarily of Danish stock, and got re-introduced to kringler when I married Cimmorene, but being a Pacific Northwesterner, I’m solidly low context. I… hmm. Hmm. I get the feeling I wouldn’t do well in “high context” Minnesota Nice culture. Then again, I think I wouldn’t do well in Southern Belle/Gentleman contexts either.

    See, the people that come here tend to be Californian or Texan. Other Southern émigrés don’t seem to be of the um… high society type.

    My point being that I grew up around strong women. Cimmy will happily fight me to do things… up to electrical work. Then, I’m rather on my own. And, her mother sent us a huge food dehydrator and the only counter space for it has an electrical outlet that needs to be replaced with a ground-default interrupted one. I can do it… but not looking forward to it.

    • Haha, Minnesota nice is just painfully friendly. For instance, if you can’t find something in a grocery store, a Minnesotan will talk to you and help you find it, even if they don’t work there. I do that all the time.

      They don’t talk a lot, but if you’re in a bind, you”ll always find help. I’m a little over the top, I exaggerate and I’m very chatty, so I’m not the “full breed standard” but I’m definitely more Minnesotan than I’m not.

      • Since Midwesterners settled much of the West (Rocky Mountains, California, etc.) some of that has trickled over here, but in varying amounts. (See, I am known to do that as well– help people out at the grocery store.)

        The high context culture stuff chafes, though. I fall between too many cracks when it comes to extreme labels and “knowing my place”.

  2. Seriously? I get this too. At my job I have to lift an 85 lb ladder (which I can do with one hand without even straining). I cant tell you how many times a man has come up and tried to “help” by taking the ladder out of my hands. I am just like, this is my job, people! I can do my own damn job! It makes my blood just boil and if this were my own blog I would be dropping f-bombs all over.

    As a side note: As I am 6’1″ and very fit, I get called an “Amazon Warrior Goddess” and also Wonder Woman. Not as thin as the lady up there, but taller.

  3. I’m attempting to trim all the way down to get pregnant far too – we have been trying for 6 months with very little to this point. When i was young I’d 2 miscarriages so I understand I am able to conceive… but I’ve obtained a lot bee pollen diet pills considering that then. My OB suggests to bee pollen diet pills, but it really is a lot easier mentioned than finished. 6 months in instead of pregnant and i am commencing to get superior emphasis.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s