I mentioned in my introduction blog that I work at the restaurant Cracker Barrel. It’s a wonderful place to work, and I consider my co-workers family. However–and I don’t mean for this to be a blow against Cracker Barrel–it is a restaurant.
“Okay, Rachel, it’s a restaurant, so what?” Well, I don’t know how many of you have ever worked in food service, but the cinematic and contemporary literature cliched scenario where the waitress is spoken to lewdly by customers who have no filter or is pinched on the waist or the butt is, believe it or not, a very real thing. Now, I’ve only ever worked at Cracker Barrel, and most consider it a wholesome place for the nostalgic, elderly grandmas and grandpas of the world, so I can’t imagine how bad that type of behavior gets at other places.
Honestly, I don’t know if it’s funny or sad that I’ve been hit on by more men who could be my grandfather than by men who are my own age.
All of this is to say that I have a paying job where the aforementioned scenario happens quite rarely. I don’t know what it’s like to be a slave girl. I don’t even really know what it’s like to be objectified, and most definitely not to the extreme that millions of former-slaves of both genders were in the U.S. not all that long ago. Men couldn’t be men, only brutes, and women couldn’t be women, only breeders. I put up with some weird stuff occasionally, but I’ve never felt unsafe at my place of work. I’ve never had to fear for my life, or tremble at the thought of being ravaged, knowing there’s absolutely nothing I could do to stop it.
Harriet Jacobs, and so, so many others, didn’t have that luxury. What misery, to be sentient and intelligent and capable of feeling, and yet to be forced into the mindset that your very body, the flesh that you occupy and animate, is not your own. What misery, to know the society that gave you values such as purity and chastity is the very society that ripped away any choice you had in regards to upholding them. I can’t even stomach it.
My Thoughts on African American Literature 
Rachel, I’ve worked as a hostess, and some of the comments people say are ridiculous I think, even when working in retail clothing stores as well. When I worked at Kohl’s, I had people ask me when I due, thinking that by how big my stomach is, that I was pregnant. I remember I had a lady ask, and I then had told her I wasn’t pregnant. She then asked when I had my baby, thinking it was baby weight. I told her that I’ve never had a baby before. She felt so bad, and kept saying sorry. I wanted to get her out so bad, because I didnt want to hear her voice any more.
I do agree with what you wrote about Harriet Jacobs. I feel bad for what happened to her, but I haven’t read the rest of what we need to read. Just from what we have read so far in class.
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Hey Rachel, although it makes me sad to hear about these experiences you’ve had (I’ve had them too), this just proves that this kind of stuff is still a very real problem that happens today. Sadly, at one point or another in a woman’s life, they will have experiences like this or worse. Being able to relate to the piece in this way just brings to the front its literary importance.
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