Labels, Boxes, and the Things That Keep Us Apart

Filling up my car at Costco often offers me lessons in patience. No matter the day or time there is always a line of cars snaking towards each pump. As I sit waiting my turn, I critique each customer’s performance. Rarely do I offer praise, but often sigh over inattentive drivers who get lost in their phones and won’t move along promptly. Yet, when it is finally my turn, I try to move with the speed & efficiency of a NASCAR pit crew. I dread needing the assistance of the yellow vested attendants as their flashy attire just calls attention to my ineptitude.

Recently, our Costco installed new credit card machines and spill proof pumps. During my first visit after the change over, I zipped my membership card through with pit crew efficiency. However, the credit card was not accepted. Panicked more by the delay than the worry of a compromised card, I pushed it through several more times…no luck. Time to admit defeat and seek out a yellow vest. The gentleman patiently explained the new card reader & demonstrated how to wave the card over the reader. I finished my fill-up carefully avoiding the eyes of those waiting behind me.

A couple weeks later, I had to fill up my car again for our trip to the mountains. Confidently, I walked up to the pump with my cards in hand ready to do the magic wave…success. I selected my fuel grade, placed the pump nozzle, squeezed the handle, & then nothing. I walked back to the the pump making sure I pushed the select fuel button. All was good but, I worried that the person next in line was sighing with impatience. Then I remembered John telling me that Costco also installed new nozzles. “You have to push it really hard,” he told me. So I gave the pump a good shove and gas started flowing.

Just as I was getting back up to pit-crew-speed, a stylishly dressed lady slipped out of the SUV behind me and proceeded to give me a step by step tutorial on how to choose my fuel. Perhaps it was my gray hair or maybe just my dithering back & forth, but it seemed like she was talking slowly so that I could understand her directions. I started to explain that all was well but was interrupted by the arrival of a yellow vest. Seeing that help arrived, the lady went back to her car and moved ahead to the newly vacated pump in front of me. After another tutorial from the yellow vest, I finished filling my tank and got back in my car. As I started the engine and readied myself to navigate around the woman’s giant SUV, I noticed a political sticker on her back window. It proclaimed her preference for the candidate I voted against. I felt the shadow of disdain as I maneuvered to a spot where I could begin my post fill-up ritual of hand washing.

As I poured a huge dollop of sanitizer on my palm, I chastised myself for wincing at her sticker and making a judgement. Hadn’t she offered to help me? She wasn’t rude, but spoke kindly. Would I do the same in her position or would I stay in my car quietly fuming over the delay? Why did I let her political preference negate her kindness and willingness to help me?

Driving home I realized that I did not see the woman as a “plural.” Irshad Manji, author of “Don’t Label Me,” states that, “Each of us, whatever our labels, is a multi-faceted plural.” When the woman slow-talked me through gas-pumping 101, I felt belittled and labeled as addled & inept. Then, when I saw her window sticker I labeled her. Never did I see her as the many things she probably is…helpful and kind but also confident, a fixer, a doer. In fact, I bet if I had a bumper sticker declaring my preference for president, she still would get out of her car and offer advice. I slapped a label on her and put her into a tidy box. Yet when I did so, I put myself in a box, too. Labels not only limit others, but they limit the labeler as well. Labels allow prejudices, misconceptions, and even untruths to frame an incomplete and sometimes a false picture of a person. We are more than who we vote for I told myself.

I truly strive to be a plural and see others as plurals, as well. As Ms. Manji explains,

“To be a plural isn’t exactly to label yourself. It’s to leapfrog over labels because everyone’s a puzzle whose pieces shift with time and experience. Plurals recognize this about themselves and, out of self-respect, they commit to recognizing it in others.”

I realize this is a lofty goal and maybe unachievable in my chance encounters…such as my brief interaction with the woman at Costco. Yet, maybe being aware of labeling will remove some of the blinders of judgement that cloud my view of the people I meet or encounter. At the very least, I should be open to the possibility that each person is many things. Like water we are all fluid, constantly changing, growing, and becoming. Maybe others will see me as a work in progress, too. An older woman who is sometimes befuddled, judgmental, and impatient but also a woman who is striving for agape…a greater boundless love for all. ~c.h.