Dear... The Man Who Called Me Greedy

You probably have a complicated relationship with food (and greed) yourself. Or women. I can’t be sure. But what you said to me that day affected me more than you could comprehend.

I wasn’t expecting it, having come so far with my relationship to food over the last five years. It was the morning of a three day conference and breakfast was being served at a food stall in the middle of the room. It was a choice between sugary pastries or a bacon and egg rolls.

Since the food was free, it meant joining a queue heaving with hungover bodies hankering to line their stomachs for the long day ahead. Standing in line for food for that length of time can be difficult for people like me. I started scrutinising the white bread rolls and analysing the bacon streaks. I debated back and forth whether I wanted egg or bacon in my roll. Egg is healthier but it didn't look so appetising. The bacon looked delicious but my inner voice screamed about the dripping fat and empty calories.

I had a big day ahead; maybe if I get both I won't have to buy lunch or dinner later, I thought. It was free after all. I tried to justify it in my mind; it could be a treat to myself for worrying about food less these days. But would I enjoy it? Would it even taste good? Why wasn’t there something healthier on offer? Porridge, fruit, even granola would eliminate this conflict. Oh god, I forgot how strenuous it was having this relentless food-guilted chatter in my brain again. I saw someone ordering both egg and bacon, it looked good.

I was nearing the front of the line and could see that you were stressed. Splashes of sweat lined your forehead, mirroring the condensation dripping from the stainless steel serving trays you were leaning over. You barked at the next person in line to tell you what they wanted.

A young woman was helping you, there was terror in her eyes as you spoke to people in such a demeaning tone. Overwhelmed by your domineering physical and verbal occupation of the small space you shared, she quietly did as she was told.

‘Egg and bacon please’, I requested, politely.

‘What is wrong with people? You can have egg OR bacon, not both!’ You yelled in my face.

Suddenly, you began aggressively loading mountains of egg into a roll. You crammed three slices of bacon in too, despite there being no room. You were making a point - an example of me - in front of everyone. I was your public execution for a crime that ordinarily others walked away from. 

The roll was monstrous and heaving, dripping between your fingers. You shoved it into my astounded hands. Your assistant looked appalled. We exchanged eye contact, both helpless in your tyrannical explosion.

‘IT’S JUST PURE GREED!’ you growled.

Your words took mine away. I couldn’t speak. Now, I wanted nothing less than to eat a bacon and egg roll. Panicking, I turned to the people waiting behind me and offered it to them. They said no.

I walked away with the roll in my hands. It seemed so heavy: filled with calories, guilt, embarrassment and deep, deep shame. Shame I hadn’t felt in years. How could you make me feel like that, after all my years of hard work?

You didn’t know I used to have an eating disorder.

But you should know better than to tell a young woman (or anyone, frankly) that they are greedy. To make an example of them, and humiliate them in front of peers and strangers. I want you to know that food is not straightforward for some people.

He wouldn’t have said that to me if I looked thinner. I must look fat and disgusting. Am I greedy for asking for both? The familiar and pervasive rhetoric raced through my mind.

I could not eat it. And I really, really hate to waste food. I walked over to a bin and slowly dropped it in. It felt painful, but I had no choice. I didn’t want to eat now, or for the rest of the day, or ever again. I was a fat, greedy, pig of a person. How could I feel deserving of both egg and bacon? The universe had cruelly corrected me for being so complacent. I deserved nothing.

I fought back tears. So disappointed that I could feel like this again. That you could make me feel like this.

I composed myself and decided to tell the event organisers about your rudeness. I did not want it happening to someone else, and anyway you were so far removed from the ‘friendly customer service’ expected at a conference of otherwise very high standards.

I found a lady who worked for the conference and told her what had happened. She was so kind and supportive. She apologised, hugged me, offered me a seat, comforted me through my unrestrainable tears and empathised with my reaction. She told me you would be spoken to. I felt lighter, empowered. But hungry.

I don’t know if you were ever spoken to. Or ever realised what the impact of your words were. But I want you to know that while you may have ruined my breakfast, you cannot ruin my recovery.

From... the greedy woman in the queue.