A Message to the Mama on WIC, From Me

0

A Message to the Mama on WIC:

A message to the mama on WICI was big-box-grocery-ing it up with my littles the other day and, as any mother who is brave enough to grocery shop with littles knows: when it comes to checkout, the faster the better. So we scoped out the “shortest” line – a mom with only 8 cans of formula; it was you. As I pulled our full cart in behind you and began unloading I noticed that you didn’t have any kids with you and I wanted to tip my hat to you in solidarity of what were likely your few moments to yourself today. I heard you quietly mention to the cashier that you had a WIC card, and suddenly everything changed. I felt it, did you? You began swiping, she began clicking, swiping, clicking, swiping, clicking, then a call for help, then a call for more help. At some point, after many minutes of this and three cashiers, the computer system shut down completely. Directions were being shouted from one lane to another and eventually someone mentioned that “WIC can’t be used there – you need to use #15!” and we both immediately scanned for signage that could have saved us all the travesty that was the belligerent computer system, but none was to be found.

By now, the line had backed up behind us – two older couples with no children. A third employee had come to help relocate all our groceries to #15. I heard the older folks grumbling and much to our collective dismay it turned out that (despite #15 being approved for WIC) the issue continued; swiping, clicking, swiping, clicking, calling for help. I was working hard to wrangle my children and we were all wearing thin, but most of all you. I saw you cringe when they yelled back and forth about which lanes WIC was allowed. I saw your eyes darting back and forth, looking for someone who could actually help and make the computer accept your card. I saw you avoiding eye contact with me (and everyone else in line behind us). And, after another 5 minutes, I heard you say “Just forget it. I don’t need it.” and walk away. I don’t blame you at all, truly – I would have done the same thing – but it shouldn’t have gone down that way.

And so it seems that an apology is in order, probably more than one.

I am sorry that their computer system was not set up to be helpful to you. I am sorry that their employees weren’t trained well-enough to solve it and weren’t enabled to take care of the situation without multiple layers of unsuccessful help. I am sorry that there were no signs to direct you to the equipped lanes in the first place (though I doubt it would have mattered). Yes, I am sorry for all of those things , but each and every one of them was out of my control.

Here’s what was in my control:

I could have made eye contact with you from the beginning; I could have struck up a conversation and learned about the baby those 8 cans of formula were for. I could have, but I was distracted trying to keep my own kiddos calm and entertained. I could have entertained them talking to you. I’m sorry.

I could have gone and found a manager while the two associates tried to figure it out themselves. I could have saved them the calls and the steps and made them myself, but instead I spent those moments in my own head feeling flustered about their system and all the ways it was broken. I’m sorry.

I could have fixed the whole mess and paid for your formula (or at least offered) but I allowed the tension and the people behind us grumbling to inhibit me from thinking clearly enough to realize that the solution to the problem was right there in my back pocket. I’m sorry.

You see, the old me would have heard you mention WIC and filtered every single thing that happened from that point forward. I would have wondered where your kids were (and how many you had) and been jealous that you had some sort of childcare while you shopped and I didn’t. I would have assumed there was something wrong with your card (or your math) and not the system. I would have wondered all manner of things and assumed the answers, likely never expecting the best of you or your situation. The old me would have let my assumptions about the answers dictate how I handled it, but that’s not quite what happened today.

Today I was in the middle. You see I’m moving, albeit slowly, from that firmly planted place where everything is crisp black and white – and I’m just not there yet. Today, while I battled judgement and compassion I missed the opportunity to remind you how much you matter and I missed the chance for my extra to be your enough. I can’t imagine how often pulling out that card ends the way it did today, whether via frustrated cashier or frustrating computer system, but I know with certainty it wasn’t the first time and likely won’t be the last.

We're in this togetherSo, because people may not say it to you, I will: I see you. I see your desire to give your baby what they need and to use the resources you have to do it. I see you checking the list and making sure to get the specified size and brand of formula that is covered. I see you whispering how you are paying and crossing your fingers and toes that it all goes through smoothly. I see you. And listen sweet mama, the work you are doing is the work I am doing – it is hard and it is holy. You are not alone. Our journeys are not that different, and I’m sorry I didn’t catch on quick enough to remind you of that today. Thanks for being patient with me (with all of us really). I promise to worry less about the broken system and more about the people living at its mercy. I promise to look you in the eyes even when you don’t want to be seen. I promise to do better next time.

Love to you and your littles mama – we’re all in this together,

Casey

LEAVE A REPLY

Please enter your comment!
Please enter your name here