I felt doubted at every step as coworkers took 2,000-pound carts out of my hands, told me to mop the cooler while they finished loading pallets, or brought up the previous female hire who hadn’t lasted.
A 10-hour shift making cheddar requires lifting 40- to 60-pound blocks hundreds of times. I spent more than half a year proving myself. And what did it matter what I wore anyway since customers only saw me in uniform? The white shirt, navy pants, and red boots made all us cheesemakers the same. I had the ready-made excuse of food safety when I cut my hair-a fade fit better under a hairnet.
My undershirt was whey-saturated and stinking by the end of each shift, so free T-shirts were the logical choice. I had to change in and out of uniform a dozen times a day, so sweatpants were the efficient option. The clothes I wore to Beecher’s were dictated by convenience.
