Pork Chop | The Menories Journal

Girls are sometimes treated like pieces of meat, but have you ever been called one?

I moved to San Francisco when I was 19 (it was actually Berkeley, across the bay, but I was in the city so much it was basically home) after a brief and failed stunt at a four-year university in Northern California. I enrolled in the local community college and got a job at a large retailer in the heart of Union Square, Zara, which owned by the man who was #6 on Forbes' Billionaires 2020 list, was notably one of the worst places to work. Some of the reasons why will be later documented in future journals but can also be highlighted by a coworker getting fired for stealing toilet paper within my first few days. Imagine where a bathroom with a constant supply of some fifty plus toilet paper rolls, the company could not spare but just a few rolls of that sickly single ply that would fall apart in one's hands - could that also say something about the pay, or even how they treated their employees in what seemed to be an obvious time of need? Regardless of the toilet paper, the pork chop incident occurred while waiting for a new friend, a coworker, to clock out.

I had never been weary of the city. I always yearned for the anonymity of being able to be lost in a crowd, people living in their own worlds as they walked by. The benefit of working in Union Square was that you could quickly get lost watching all the people who passed by, which was in fact what was happening as I waited for my friend to clock out. I got lost in the daze of people passing and the lull of the tunes that were softly escaping my headphones. After a few minutes, I watched as my friend confidently walked out of the large double doors and began to turn off my music, when she held up a single finger, stopping me, and answered her ringing phone.

The fog had begun to pick up in the time that I had been waiting and I enjoyed the blanket like feel it gave the sky and the nippiness of the wind that often went with it. It was a night that I didn't mind waiting for a friend to take a call. I watched as she spoke quickly and loudly into a phone in a language that I myself had not heard before moving from a very non-diverse town. She was beautiful in a way that was new to me, the way that people reacted to her was astonishing, as if they knew that she was, or at least thought she was, a queen. She was sure of herself, loud, fun, and free. I diverted my attention elsewhere as she was now yelling into her phone. I was only slightly aware that a group of men down the street had been watching us. I assumed that they had mainly been watching her, but as it typically was in the city, they seemed harmless. I always felt as if the city was somewhere to be alert but not afraid. My friend looked over at me, taking a quick break from loudly singing into her phone and mouthed to me that she needed to run back inside and grab her coat.

The men down the street began to disperse and go their own separate ways the same moment that my friend stepped back inside. I sunk back onto the glass window as I waited again and was focused on putting my headphones away hoping to not later find them in a tangled mess. The distinct city smells began to come more fragrant as the wind picked up, a waft of trash and urine floated by. The smell of alcohol soon followed. One of the men in the group had made his way towards me, while I had been ignoring it, figuring he would pass and be on his way, he slowed, crawling closer until he was mere inches from me. His words were slurred, nearly incoherent, but it was clear that he had something to say.

Mumbled and disordered the man began to ramble. While he was already inches from me, he began to come closer, slowly inching closer and closer to my face. Now I don't necessarily believe in backing down from situations, so that combined with the fact that taking a step backwards was impossible as I was pressed against a window, I stood still. Frozen, I nodded, acting as if I knew what he was saying. My friend, now wearing her coat and phone-free, exited the building and re-joined my side. She didn't say anything as she watched the man swaying in front of me and listened to his speech for a minute before pulling me away, laughing.

"Why didn't you walk away? Did you hear him?" She asked immediately. She was laughing but there was also a hint of concern that wavered in her voice. Apparently, the blank stare on my face said it all. "He was comparing you to a piece of meat, I think he said that you were, 'A grade A piece of a*s.'" I blinked as I tried to process what was just said when it clicked. His jumbled words turning in my head, until finally piecing together the words, "You're a pork chop." My friend, still laughing, both at me and the situation, continued to drag me away from the scene as I still tried to wrap my mind about what happened, watching the man stumble away from where we had been standing.

I had been cat-called before and it was typically easy to ignore. But it was the ones that approach you and get in your face that can phase you the most. While my experience thus far was mainly in a small, safe town, I had had a few encounters with street hecklers. While most of the cat-calls were basic pickup lines, there were some that stuck with you, some bad, some not. One of those times was being confronted in front of a popular café by a group of Spanish boys who immediately asked if they could whisk my friends and I away to Spain for a “week or two”. While that was weird and slightly uncomfortable it was better than being compared to a piece of meat.

The next day, at work, I had been somewhat enthusiastically telling my coworkers about what had happened, hoping that they would share in my confusion, when one of my friends sitting at the table blurted, “He’s not wrong.” This was met with some nods and mumbled agreements. I could feel my cheeks turning red, a blush that would take over my whole face, as I was shocked that my friends had agreed with the drunk man.

 It took me an uncomfortably long time to decide whether or not I was flattered. The idea of being compared to meat seemed almost degrading but to my friends, seemed to be a compliment, and a flattering one at that. Years later I still think about how being called a pork chop could be considered a compliment. I must admit, it is still a puzzle to me.

Author's Note

Re-releasing previously written pieces with more edits and details. Please leave any feedback, all is welcome.

Reviews

[shadrach hah]

Hi Haley, maybe I am a weird one, it doesn't seem to be much of a compliment to me. Still, being from Scotland, some things that are said or happen in America puzzle me. Mind you, some things that are said or happen here in Scotland might puzzle you. I was gripped from beginning to end of this memory. You are a consummate storyteller. You know how to grip your audience. I still do wonder about some men's attitudes towards the ladies. May your journey of memories go on. Have a wonderful Wednesday. Hugs always....Mike.

[Haley]

Hi Mike, I'm glad I'm not only the one who thinks it is a bit weird, I'm not so sure if it's an American custom or not, I would be interested in learning about more of Scotland's stranger customs too! Thank you so much for your kind words and reading!

[shadrach hah]

Hi Haley, you are welcome. Firstly we come to the kilt. People seem to have a fixation with what a Scotsman has under his kilt. This isn't a strange custom but it is funny. Their is such a fascination with this from people outside Scotland. By the by, I am not saying. I am mum on this subject. Tossing the Kaber, is one of those I will never understand. Alright, it is to test strength, but grown men hurling a large log, strange one to me. Have a wonderful evening. Hugs always....Mike.

[Coyote Poetry]

I enjoyed the story dear Haley. I have work for large companies and they are all the same. Profit over kindness.
" It took me an uncomfortably long time to decide whether or not I was flattered. The idea of being compared to meat seemed almost degrading but to my friends, seemed to be a compliment, and a flattering one at that. Years later I still think about how being called a pork chop could be considered a compliment. I must admit, it is still a puzzle to me."
The above lines. Very similar to what jack London wrote. "Men are just meat for the big companies, use and abuse, toss away." Thank you dear friend for sharing the amazing story.
Coyote

[Haley]

They are very much the same, different costumes but same values. Thank you so much for reading!

[Coyote Poetry]

You are welcome dear Haley.

[Richard🖌]

SAY, Haley!

You're quickly approaching your 1st Writers' Café Anniversary … I'll have to come-up with a nice celebratory piece for the occasion. 🎶

[Haley]

Yes! It's been so crazy that it has almost been a year! While I did take a few months long sabbatical, I am back and ready to keep writing and reading the many amazing writers on this site! P.S. I would be beyond honored to have a celebratory piece written by you!

[Richard🖌]

Ummm? 🤔

Haley,
Let me conspire with my battered olde pen … I feel rather certain we can orchestrate something worthy of this laudable occasion. ✏️