Saturday, September 6, 2014
It's next to impossible for a woman to convince men in the workplace that they treat female coworkers differently from their male colleagues. They vehemently deny it. Given examples, they always have reasons. She doesn't have the experience. She's not as technically astute. She doesn't see the big picture. She doesn't have the necessary leadership qualities. Blah blah blah.
Men don't listen to women the same way they listen to men. If a man objects to some statement, they will listen and consider what's said. If a woman makes the same objection, they immediately assume that she just doesn't understand.
Men rarely interrupt a man speaking in a meeting. Women are regularly interrupted, and no one notices or objects. If she objects and finishes her thought, no one listens and she's described as loud and pushy.
Stuff like that.
Personally, I got tired of men talking to my chest.
Well, finally we have observations from people who have been on both sides. Transsexuals! They know exactly what it's like to be a man or woman in the workplace, and then to experience the treatment as the other sex. And they are the same person with the same skills in both roles. They pretty much say exactly what women have been saying for eons.
They say that as a woman, no matter which way their change went, they got/get no respect.
The New Republic article is at http://www.newrepublic.com/article/119239/transgender-people-can-explain-why-women-dont-advance-work. I urge you to read it, and pass it around, especially to MEN!
(And then wait and see - those men will opine that it's the addition or subtraction of testosterone. Apparently, testosterone makes one logical.)
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I am reminded of a conversation I had with an IBM manager once. He asked if I wanted to go into management. I said "No, I'd rather stay technical."
He asked what my goals would be (he was thinking stuff like fellowship and so on). I replied, "I want to be listened to in meetings. I want that when I say something, people stop and listen and actually think about what I just said. I want people to want to hear what I have to say."
He said, "Oh, so you want to be seen as a technical expert?"
I blinked twice and said, "I! AM! a! technical! expert!! I want them to stop staring at my breasts and listen when I speak. Apparently they ARE subliminally hearing me, because after my observation is ignored, passed off as trivial, not even worth discussion, the next week some other guy says EXACTLY the same thing I said, using the EXACT same words, and everyone thinks he's a genius. Nobody remembers my having said exactly the same thing with exactly the same arguments the week before. I'm getting tired of that. I don't know how to get past it."
He didn't know what to say to that. Especially since he had been in some of the same meetings, and had seen it happen.
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Showing posts with label sexism. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sexism. Show all posts
Saturday, September 06, 2014
Thursday, October 09, 2008
2059 Deprivation?
Repeating a post from December, 2004:
I was reading something the other day that had me thinking that I'm very fortunate in that I have everything I really need. Then I thought that all my life I've always had all the material things I've needed. I've never felt materially deprived. I've been lucky.
Then I thought a little harder, and remembered that there were many times in my life when I had next to nothing.
My entire wardrobe when I was in college took up maybe 14 inches of closet space. I wore bedroom slippers all summer one year (they were straw) because I couldn't afford to buy sandals. One Pennsylvania winter I wore a rubber raincoat over a sweater because I didn't have a coat.
Then after I graduated and began teaching, I bought my first sewing machine (used) with my first savings, and my wardrobe grew. I had to resign 2 months into my second year because pregnant women in 1966 weren't allowed to teach. I had like $200 in savings, and a husband who was away in the army. The army took $125 out of his paycheck every month and sent it to me - but he never sent another cent. Rent was $125 a month [teaching salary was $4800/year]. I ate dinner every evening at the diner around the corner from my apartment because they had a $.80 "blue plate special". That and a glass of diet shake in the morning was all I had to eat every day. I did my laundry in the bathtub because I couldn't afford the laundromat. Then, just a few weeks before the baby was due, there was a fire in the store below my apartment. Everything I owned suffered smoke damage, almost nothing could be saved, my bird died, and the day after the fire I lost the baby.
In 1968 I left Ex#1. I had $500 squirreled away in a secret savings account, in my own name, to use to move away. I got a job in a different state, and when I went to the bank to get the money, I found that my husband had gone to the bank and demanded the money, and they had given it to him. That was normal in those days - a woman's money belonged to her husband. I left with what I had in my pocket and what I could fit in my tiny car (a rear-motor Volkswagon Karmann Ghia (sp?) which meant almost no trunk and a tiny back seat, and the mice, birds, and Smokey cat took up most of that).
The new employer gave me a"per diem" allowance for six weeks while I looked for someplace to live. From that, by moving into a cheaper motel and eating in the company cafeteria, I was able to save enough for the first month's rent on a little 4-room cabin in the woods. The landlady lent me a little lamp, which I carried from room to room at night. I slept on the floor until I could afford a sofa. I slept on the sofa until I could afford a bed. I ate standing at the sink until I could afford a little table and two chairs.
Then I married husband #2, who was a tightwad. In the 70's, a working wife turned her salary over to the husband to manage. The average woman had no idea what was where moneywise. I would have had to beg for things, and I wouldn't beg, so we had no living room or dining room furniture for the first 9 years. When Daughter was born, I made her bassinet out of a laundry basket, and sewed all her baby clothes. In 1979, my monthly budget for food was $70, and I fed two adults and a child quite well on that.
When I finally left him, even though next to no money had been spent on goodies, there was strangely little to be split. I left with $19,000 (half the equity in the house, for downpayment on a small house for Daughter and me), a few shares of computer company stock, my car, and $1,500 cash. (There should have been a LOT more stock, but I didn't want to fight, so I didn't push it.) I'd picked the absolute worst time to leave - I think it was 1981 or 82 - mortgage rates were through the roof. The best I could do was 17.5% and 3 points, for a 30-year mortgage. (Honest! That was a real rate for an adjustable mortgage.)
Nonetheless, living the way same way I had been living before, and now on a low starting salary, after the first ten months I had over $10,000 in savings, over half my $19,000 salary. (The ex was paying support - we had agreed on 40% of the difference in our salaries, but I put all of that money into a separate account for my daughter's college and for emergencies.)
That was when I realized the ex must have cheated me. There should have been more when we split, given his larger salary (well over twice mine) and the way we had been living for so long.
That was the first time in my entire life that I felt that I had been deprived. Up until then, no matter how little I had, I just figured that was the way it was, and I took pride in managing with what I had. I coped. Besides, in college and in my 20's, most of my friends were in the same boat. One of my friends in college had to sell her 15-years-uncut hair to buy textbooks. I didn't even feel deprived when my visiting mother looked around my kitchen in 1979, and said "You don't have a microwave?" I didn't figure I needed one.
About the same time I was starting to look back and feel like I'd been missing something (about 1984ish), that there should have been more. There was a young woman interviewed on TV - her home had been broken into, and the thieves had taken everything. Her list included a large color TV (I had a small black-and-white), a stereo with all the goodies (I had an old one-piece hi-fi), a fox coat (my only coat was cloth), a microwave oven, a VCR (what's a VCR?), etc. The kicker was that she was about 20 years old, childless, and on welfare! I decided then and there that I was going to be deprived no longer. I had worked hard all my life, and by darn I was going to have at least what a 20-year-old on welfare has!
I put a reasonable amount into savings every month, and then the rest I spent. For the past 22 years I have treated myself well. Daughter and I took the first "luxury" vacations I had ever taken in my life - to England and Wales (3 weeks! Two of them on a houseboat on the canals), Disneyworld, Puerto Vallarta (sp?), Barbados, a dude ranch. I bought shoes. I wore store-bought clothes. I bought books!!!
My first 38 years had taught me how to be shrewd about money. I still think beauty parlors are a waste of money, still cut my own hair. I've still never been to a spa or had a professional massage. I happen to like cheap food and inexpensive restaurants. Brand names are all pronounced "ripoff". Not that I buy cheap stuff - I just don't pay for cachet.
When Jay and I got married, he was pretty well strapped. His ex had taken everything, literally everything, they had acquired in their entire relationship, even things she couldn't possibly keep or use. She threw things away rather than let him have them. She left him with a 20-year-old car (it was his first car, and he had an emotional attachment to it), and a lawn tractor, and he had to buy "her" half of the house (she'd "shopped around" for the highest appraisal). She took half the savings and checking accounts, and half the stock. She had been teaching, and all of her salary through the years had been going into a saving account in her name, untouched except for vacations. Naturally, that was all "hers". Jay just lay there and took it. I don't know why he felt guilty - this was a woman who allowed sex maybe three times a year, and had banished him to the guest bedroom because his snoring kept her awake. (It didn't take me long to realize that he had a severe case of sleep apnea, and that was when I really started to hate her. How could she not have realized that he was struggling to breathe - the sleep center clocked him at 70 episodes per hour - especially if it "kept her awake"? I don't think she cared enough.)
Anyhow, Jay was pretty much starting over when we got married, and then he lost his job 4 months later and was out of work for 9 months. We lived on my savings that year. My hard-earned money-squeezing skills came in handy, especially since Daughter had just started college - out-of-state Ivy League (Penn State), no financial aid because her father was too well off, no matter that he was contributing nothing to her costs, them's the rules durn it. When Jay went back to work, his pay was significantly higher, but he had no benefits. No problem, because he could be on my health plan.
That was enough to scare me a little. I went back into save mode. Within the next four years, we had more than tripled our savings and investments. Then he got sick. Then he died.
I still don't understand the numbers during the three years he was ill. The costs, even with health insurance, were enormous. We had my retirement check, his disability check (40% of his salary), and our investment income coming in. We had the bills going out. No matter how I run the numbers, more went out than came in, but we were never hurting to pay the bills. I can't figure it out. The only time I had to dip into capital was when I sold $20,000 of my stock to buy the handicap van. (I also borrowed $20,000 from Jay's father for the van, which I paid back at $500/month, and then in full from the life insurance.) I don't understand it. That must have been some kind of super-saving mode?!? That $500/month loan payment is the kicker. How?!?
So now I'm sitting on all that financial history. And I don't at all feel bad buying oriental rugs and fox coats [and my first fancy car!]. I saved for it. I earned it. I piled it up. I have been deprived so that now I can be indulged.
.
I was reading something the other day that had me thinking that I'm very fortunate in that I have everything I really need. Then I thought that all my life I've always had all the material things I've needed. I've never felt materially deprived. I've been lucky.
Then I thought a little harder, and remembered that there were many times in my life when I had next to nothing.
My entire wardrobe when I was in college took up maybe 14 inches of closet space. I wore bedroom slippers all summer one year (they were straw) because I couldn't afford to buy sandals. One Pennsylvania winter I wore a rubber raincoat over a sweater because I didn't have a coat.
Then after I graduated and began teaching, I bought my first sewing machine (used) with my first savings, and my wardrobe grew. I had to resign 2 months into my second year because pregnant women in 1966 weren't allowed to teach. I had like $200 in savings, and a husband who was away in the army. The army took $125 out of his paycheck every month and sent it to me - but he never sent another cent. Rent was $125 a month [teaching salary was $4800/year]. I ate dinner every evening at the diner around the corner from my apartment because they had a $.80 "blue plate special". That and a glass of diet shake in the morning was all I had to eat every day. I did my laundry in the bathtub because I couldn't afford the laundromat. Then, just a few weeks before the baby was due, there was a fire in the store below my apartment. Everything I owned suffered smoke damage, almost nothing could be saved, my bird died, and the day after the fire I lost the baby.
In 1968 I left Ex#1. I had $500 squirreled away in a secret savings account, in my own name, to use to move away. I got a job in a different state, and when I went to the bank to get the money, I found that my husband had gone to the bank and demanded the money, and they had given it to him. That was normal in those days - a woman's money belonged to her husband. I left with what I had in my pocket and what I could fit in my tiny car (a rear-motor Volkswagon Karmann Ghia (sp?) which meant almost no trunk and a tiny back seat, and the mice, birds, and Smokey cat took up most of that).
The new employer gave me a"per diem" allowance for six weeks while I looked for someplace to live. From that, by moving into a cheaper motel and eating in the company cafeteria, I was able to save enough for the first month's rent on a little 4-room cabin in the woods. The landlady lent me a little lamp, which I carried from room to room at night. I slept on the floor until I could afford a sofa. I slept on the sofa until I could afford a bed. I ate standing at the sink until I could afford a little table and two chairs.
Then I married husband #2, who was a tightwad. In the 70's, a working wife turned her salary over to the husband to manage. The average woman had no idea what was where moneywise. I would have had to beg for things, and I wouldn't beg, so we had no living room or dining room furniture for the first 9 years. When Daughter was born, I made her bassinet out of a laundry basket, and sewed all her baby clothes. In 1979, my monthly budget for food was $70, and I fed two adults and a child quite well on that.
When I finally left him, even though next to no money had been spent on goodies, there was strangely little to be split. I left with $19,000 (half the equity in the house, for downpayment on a small house for Daughter and me), a few shares of computer company stock, my car, and $1,500 cash. (There should have been a LOT more stock, but I didn't want to fight, so I didn't push it.) I'd picked the absolute worst time to leave - I think it was 1981 or 82 - mortgage rates were through the roof. The best I could do was 17.5% and 3 points, for a 30-year mortgage. (Honest! That was a real rate for an adjustable mortgage.)
Nonetheless, living the way same way I had been living before, and now on a low starting salary, after the first ten months I had over $10,000 in savings, over half my $19,000 salary. (The ex was paying support - we had agreed on 40% of the difference in our salaries, but I put all of that money into a separate account for my daughter's college and for emergencies.)
That was when I realized the ex must have cheated me. There should have been more when we split, given his larger salary (well over twice mine) and the way we had been living for so long.
That was the first time in my entire life that I felt that I had been deprived. Up until then, no matter how little I had, I just figured that was the way it was, and I took pride in managing with what I had. I coped. Besides, in college and in my 20's, most of my friends were in the same boat. One of my friends in college had to sell her 15-years-uncut hair to buy textbooks. I didn't even feel deprived when my visiting mother looked around my kitchen in 1979, and said "You don't have a microwave?" I didn't figure I needed one.
About the same time I was starting to look back and feel like I'd been missing something (about 1984ish), that there should have been more. There was a young woman interviewed on TV - her home had been broken into, and the thieves had taken everything. Her list included a large color TV (I had a small black-and-white), a stereo with all the goodies (I had an old one-piece hi-fi), a fox coat (my only coat was cloth), a microwave oven, a VCR (what's a VCR?), etc. The kicker was that she was about 20 years old, childless, and on welfare! I decided then and there that I was going to be deprived no longer. I had worked hard all my life, and by darn I was going to have at least what a 20-year-old on welfare has!
I put a reasonable amount into savings every month, and then the rest I spent. For the past 22 years I have treated myself well. Daughter and I took the first "luxury" vacations I had ever taken in my life - to England and Wales (3 weeks! Two of them on a houseboat on the canals), Disneyworld, Puerto Vallarta (sp?), Barbados, a dude ranch. I bought shoes. I wore store-bought clothes. I bought books!!!
My first 38 years had taught me how to be shrewd about money. I still think beauty parlors are a waste of money, still cut my own hair. I've still never been to a spa or had a professional massage. I happen to like cheap food and inexpensive restaurants. Brand names are all pronounced "ripoff". Not that I buy cheap stuff - I just don't pay for cachet.
When Jay and I got married, he was pretty well strapped. His ex had taken everything, literally everything, they had acquired in their entire relationship, even things she couldn't possibly keep or use. She threw things away rather than let him have them. She left him with a 20-year-old car (it was his first car, and he had an emotional attachment to it), and a lawn tractor, and he had to buy "her" half of the house (she'd "shopped around" for the highest appraisal). She took half the savings and checking accounts, and half the stock. She had been teaching, and all of her salary through the years had been going into a saving account in her name, untouched except for vacations. Naturally, that was all "hers". Jay just lay there and took it. I don't know why he felt guilty - this was a woman who allowed sex maybe three times a year, and had banished him to the guest bedroom because his snoring kept her awake. (It didn't take me long to realize that he had a severe case of sleep apnea, and that was when I really started to hate her. How could she not have realized that he was struggling to breathe - the sleep center clocked him at 70 episodes per hour - especially if it "kept her awake"? I don't think she cared enough.)
Anyhow, Jay was pretty much starting over when we got married, and then he lost his job 4 months later and was out of work for 9 months. We lived on my savings that year. My hard-earned money-squeezing skills came in handy, especially since Daughter had just started college - out-of-state Ivy League (Penn State), no financial aid because her father was too well off, no matter that he was contributing nothing to her costs, them's the rules durn it. When Jay went back to work, his pay was significantly higher, but he had no benefits. No problem, because he could be on my health plan.
That was enough to scare me a little. I went back into save mode. Within the next four years, we had more than tripled our savings and investments. Then he got sick. Then he died.
I still don't understand the numbers during the three years he was ill. The costs, even with health insurance, were enormous. We had my retirement check, his disability check (40% of his salary), and our investment income coming in. We had the bills going out. No matter how I run the numbers, more went out than came in, but we were never hurting to pay the bills. I can't figure it out. The only time I had to dip into capital was when I sold $20,000 of my stock to buy the handicap van. (I also borrowed $20,000 from Jay's father for the van, which I paid back at $500/month, and then in full from the life insurance.) I don't understand it. That must have been some kind of super-saving mode?!? That $500/month loan payment is the kicker. How?!?
So now I'm sitting on all that financial history. And I don't at all feel bad buying oriental rugs and fox coats [and my first fancy car!]. I saved for it. I earned it. I piled it up. I have been deprived so that now I can be indulged.
.
Friday, April 25, 2008
1780 In Defense of My Addiction
Friday, April 25, 2008
I enjoy the first 20 minutes or so of The View, the "Hot Topics" segment. Seems like everybody either loves it or hates it. I like it because it always kicks off thoughts.
Back when, I was amused that Jay liked it too. It seems that most of the people who make fun of the show are male, and I suspect it's because they've never watched it. They just think "women talk" and therefore it is to be disparaged. Oh, well. I miss Jay's open mind.
What they got me thinking of today is addictions. Nicotine, food, alcohol, gambling, and so on.
I don't get wrapped up in food, I don't gamble, I almost don't drink*. I smoke. I've tried to quit smoking, and I dislike me when I'm quitting. I get very depressed and very mean, and I'm pretty certain that if I managed to quit smoking, I'd start drinking. Or I'd kill someone.
I get very annoyed at people who smugly say, "Well, that's ok. Smoking will kill you. Drinking won't." Tell me about it. My sweet little sister drank herself to death in her early 40s.
Gambling destroys whole families. Drinking destroys lives, and can kill innocent people who happen to be on the same road. Overeating can kill you as surely as alcohol or cigarettes. Just about anything done to excess is dangerous to self and others, including religious fervor.
It's annoying that in this state I can open a business where people can drink themselves into a stupor day after day, and it's ok. I can open a business where I can serve 2,000 calorie sandwiches to any heart-attack-on-the-hoof who can roll through the door, and it's ok. I can open a business where people can sit at a machine and gamble away their family's life savings, and it's ok. But I can't open a business, not even in my own home, where people can smoke a cigarette.
Don't give me that secondhand smoke argument - not while you are addicted to your car, which is spewing poison into the air. That poison is impossible to avoid. Cigarette smoke is relatively easy to avoid. In fact, if I quit smoking and got into that mean mood, I could be the sniper on the hill, taking out speeding drivers on the Thruway. I'm damn good with a gun, you know.
I wonder - when cigarettes are stamped out, and smokers have become acceptable drunks, what will "they" blame asthma and lung cancer on then? Has no one noticed that even as the rates of smoking have gone down, the cancer and asthma rates have continued to rise? When they've eliminated smoking, will they next take your car away?
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*Story about drinking - those last three years, every time we went to a new doctor, one of the questions the nurse would ask Jay was how much he drank, and he'd always say "Four or five". The nurse would look up and say, "Per week or per day?", and Jay'd answer, "Per year." The look on their faces was priceless.
For me, it used to be less. With The Man, it has jumped to one to three drinks a month.
--------------------------
Is it obvious I attempted to quit again last weekend, and pissed myself off so badly I bought a pack, just to shut me up? I almost drove The Man away.
.
I enjoy the first 20 minutes or so of The View, the "Hot Topics" segment. Seems like everybody either loves it or hates it. I like it because it always kicks off thoughts.
Back when, I was amused that Jay liked it too. It seems that most of the people who make fun of the show are male, and I suspect it's because they've never watched it. They just think "women talk" and therefore it is to be disparaged. Oh, well. I miss Jay's open mind.
What they got me thinking of today is addictions. Nicotine, food, alcohol, gambling, and so on.
I don't get wrapped up in food, I don't gamble, I almost don't drink*. I smoke. I've tried to quit smoking, and I dislike me when I'm quitting. I get very depressed and very mean, and I'm pretty certain that if I managed to quit smoking, I'd start drinking. Or I'd kill someone.
I get very annoyed at people who smugly say, "Well, that's ok. Smoking will kill you. Drinking won't." Tell me about it. My sweet little sister drank herself to death in her early 40s.
Gambling destroys whole families. Drinking destroys lives, and can kill innocent people who happen to be on the same road. Overeating can kill you as surely as alcohol or cigarettes. Just about anything done to excess is dangerous to self and others, including religious fervor.
It's annoying that in this state I can open a business where people can drink themselves into a stupor day after day, and it's ok. I can open a business where I can serve 2,000 calorie sandwiches to any heart-attack-on-the-hoof who can roll through the door, and it's ok. I can open a business where people can sit at a machine and gamble away their family's life savings, and it's ok. But I can't open a business, not even in my own home, where people can smoke a cigarette.
Don't give me that secondhand smoke argument - not while you are addicted to your car, which is spewing poison into the air. That poison is impossible to avoid. Cigarette smoke is relatively easy to avoid. In fact, if I quit smoking and got into that mean mood, I could be the sniper on the hill, taking out speeding drivers on the Thruway. I'm damn good with a gun, you know.
I wonder - when cigarettes are stamped out, and smokers have become acceptable drunks, what will "they" blame asthma and lung cancer on then? Has no one noticed that even as the rates of smoking have gone down, the cancer and asthma rates have continued to rise? When they've eliminated smoking, will they next take your car away?
--------------------------
*Story about drinking - those last three years, every time we went to a new doctor, one of the questions the nurse would ask Jay was how much he drank, and he'd always say "Four or five". The nurse would look up and say, "Per week or per day?", and Jay'd answer, "Per year." The look on their faces was priceless.
For me, it used to be less. With The Man, it has jumped to one to three drinks a month.
--------------------------
Is it obvious I attempted to quit again last weekend, and pissed myself off so badly I bought a pack, just to shut me up? I almost drove The Man away.
.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
1769 Gender Sensitive
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Marge Simpson: We can't afford to shop at any store that has a philosophy.
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Last week I posted about my annoyance when people are overly sensitive and jump to conclude racism where it might not be. This morning I was reading a piece written by a lesbian (nah, I'm not going to link to it) and I was reminded of an incident last summer, at the Maritime Museum.
I was filling in in the gift shop, and having trouble with the cash register. It wasn't totaling up correctly, and the cash drawer had a weird combination of change.
A couple came in. One was a woman in her early fifties, very feminine. She deferred to her companion, who was probably late thirties, and who was very affectionate toward and protective of her. I couldn't figure out if the companion was male or female. It was weird.
I've never been confused before. I can spot transvestites unfailingly. I don't have trouble until we move into the transsexual realm, when they start messing with hormones, but even then, the brow and jawline is often a clue. You can't change bones that easily. I once had a whole theater full of people pissed with me when we went to that movie where the big twist at the end is that the beautiful woman the man falls in love with turns out to be a man (can't remember the name of the movie, it was like 20 years ago when stuff like that was shocking [Later: a commenter has reminded me it was "The Crying Game"]), and everybody in the world was so careful not to tell the ending because it's so shocking, and five minutes into the movie I turned to my companion and whispered "That's a man. Why do they have a male actor in that role?" Half the theater turned and scowled at me.
Anyhow, identifying people as to age, race, gender, is something your brain sort of does on autopilot, and you get a glitch when it can't.
The couple explored the museum, then came back out and explored the gift shop. At some point, something, I don't remember what, clued me in that the companion was a woman.
I have no problem with that. I'm all for affection, love, commitment wherever one finds it, and these two were obviously happy. That's nice. I was just relieved that I'd figured it out. (Remember SNL's "Pat"?)
Anyhow, they bought some stuff, the companion put some cash on the counter, the cash register sneezed, and I had to total it up by hand and figure out the best change from the slim pickings in the drawer. I counted it out in a pile on the counter, switching a few bills and coins as I found a combination that would still leave me usable cash (a drawer full of just 20s and dimes is not usable). When I had it all together, I pushed the pile across the counter to the companion.
She was absolutely furious because I didn't put the money directly into her hand. She tore into me, saying that putting the money on the counter instead of into her hand was extremely disrespectful, that I was extremely rude in avoiding physical contact with her, and on and on. She really blasted me. I was speechless. All I could say was that I was sorry, I'd had no clerk training and didn't know there was a protocol, didn't know that was important, ok, now I know.
It really shook me. The amount of venom was scary.
I think she was oversensitive, and saw disrespect where there was none. She's creating her own stress.
.
Marge Simpson: We can't afford to shop at any store that has a philosophy.
------------------------
Last week I posted about my annoyance when people are overly sensitive and jump to conclude racism where it might not be. This morning I was reading a piece written by a lesbian (nah, I'm not going to link to it) and I was reminded of an incident last summer, at the Maritime Museum.
I was filling in in the gift shop, and having trouble with the cash register. It wasn't totaling up correctly, and the cash drawer had a weird combination of change.
A couple came in. One was a woman in her early fifties, very feminine. She deferred to her companion, who was probably late thirties, and who was very affectionate toward and protective of her. I couldn't figure out if the companion was male or female. It was weird.
I've never been confused before. I can spot transvestites unfailingly. I don't have trouble until we move into the transsexual realm, when they start messing with hormones, but even then, the brow and jawline is often a clue. You can't change bones that easily. I once had a whole theater full of people pissed with me when we went to that movie where the big twist at the end is that the beautiful woman the man falls in love with turns out to be a man (can't remember the name of the movie, it was like 20 years ago when stuff like that was shocking [Later: a commenter has reminded me it was "The Crying Game"]), and everybody in the world was so careful not to tell the ending because it's so shocking, and five minutes into the movie I turned to my companion and whispered "That's a man. Why do they have a male actor in that role?" Half the theater turned and scowled at me.
Anyhow, identifying people as to age, race, gender, is something your brain sort of does on autopilot, and you get a glitch when it can't.
The couple explored the museum, then came back out and explored the gift shop. At some point, something, I don't remember what, clued me in that the companion was a woman.
I have no problem with that. I'm all for affection, love, commitment wherever one finds it, and these two were obviously happy. That's nice. I was just relieved that I'd figured it out. (Remember SNL's "Pat"?)
Anyhow, they bought some stuff, the companion put some cash on the counter, the cash register sneezed, and I had to total it up by hand and figure out the best change from the slim pickings in the drawer. I counted it out in a pile on the counter, switching a few bills and coins as I found a combination that would still leave me usable cash (a drawer full of just 20s and dimes is not usable). When I had it all together, I pushed the pile across the counter to the companion.
She was absolutely furious because I didn't put the money directly into her hand. She tore into me, saying that putting the money on the counter instead of into her hand was extremely disrespectful, that I was extremely rude in avoiding physical contact with her, and on and on. She really blasted me. I was speechless. All I could say was that I was sorry, I'd had no clerk training and didn't know there was a protocol, didn't know that was important, ok, now I know.
It really shook me. The amount of venom was scary.
I think she was oversensitive, and saw disrespect where there was none. She's creating her own stress.
.
Saturday, February 18, 2006
#573 Questions 9 thru 12
Well, I found out where all the single men "of a certain age" hang out at 5 pm on a Saturday. The IGA was chock full of them, most quite willing to help a little lady reach things on high shelves. One gentleman, after helping me with some fruit juice, kept turning up in subsequent aisles, catching my eye and smiling shyly. Sorry, fella. I'm off men for the moment.
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Continuing with questions from The Book of Questions, by Gregory Stock, Ph.D., Workman Publishing Company, Inc., $6.95. (If you like the idea, you should buy the book. Get yourself all the questions at once.)
9. Would you accept $1,000,000 to leave the country and never set foot in it again?
Bad question. If one already has $10,000,000, the question is moot. If one has $10, the answer is easy. We've already established that I'd leave for love with no money. So now we're establishing my dollar price, eh? Well, for one million, probably not. For two million, maybe. For three million, definitely, since then I would be able to buy or bring to me at any time anything or anyone I wanted to have or see.
If you were expelled from the country and had only limited financial resources, where would you try to rebuild your life?
Probably Canada or England, since at least I speak the language, and I'm too old to fight new battles in an entirely foreign culture.
10. Which sex do you think has it easier in our culture?
I don't think either sex has it easier. They both have it hard in different ways.
Have you ever wished you were of the opposite sex?
No. Never. I have often thought about what it would be like to be male, especially when I had just been put down or shoved aside, but the demands on men are too great. Not that the demands on females are less, if anything they're greater, but those demands are at least more in a direction I am willing to go.
11. You are given the power to kill people simply by thinking of their deaths and twice repeating the word "Goodbye". People would die a natural death and no one would suspect you. Are there any situations in which you would use this power?
I invoke the fifth on this one. Let's just say I would be very sorely tempted. Not in anger, but in one case in sympathy, and in another in frustration. Good girl, bad girl.
12. If you were able to live to the age of 90 and retain either the body or the mind of a 30-year-old for the last 60 years of your life, which would you want?
Easy. Body. Assuming of course that the brain is part of the body (and I rather suspect that this is not what the questioner intended, but it is how I choose to interpret it). The 30-year-old has everything working well, including the brain, but the mind is only half developed. My brain was in much better condition when I was thirty, but my mind is in much better condition now. So I'd choose the body (including brain) of a 30-year-old to keep, and the mind of the 90-year old, with all the accrued wisdom. In fact, I wish I had had that when I was 30. However, this could be a curse. One would never be ready to die. (Which is where question #11 would come in handy.)
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Continuing with questions from The Book of Questions, by Gregory Stock, Ph.D., Workman Publishing Company, Inc., $6.95. (If you like the idea, you should buy the book. Get yourself all the questions at once.)
9. Would you accept $1,000,000 to leave the country and never set foot in it again?
Bad question. If one already has $10,000,000, the question is moot. If one has $10, the answer is easy. We've already established that I'd leave for love with no money. So now we're establishing my dollar price, eh? Well, for one million, probably not. For two million, maybe. For three million, definitely, since then I would be able to buy or bring to me at any time anything or anyone I wanted to have or see.
If you were expelled from the country and had only limited financial resources, where would you try to rebuild your life?
Probably Canada or England, since at least I speak the language, and I'm too old to fight new battles in an entirely foreign culture.
10. Which sex do you think has it easier in our culture?
I don't think either sex has it easier. They both have it hard in different ways.
Have you ever wished you were of the opposite sex?
No. Never. I have often thought about what it would be like to be male, especially when I had just been put down or shoved aside, but the demands on men are too great. Not that the demands on females are less, if anything they're greater, but those demands are at least more in a direction I am willing to go.
11. You are given the power to kill people simply by thinking of their deaths and twice repeating the word "Goodbye". People would die a natural death and no one would suspect you. Are there any situations in which you would use this power?
I invoke the fifth on this one. Let's just say I would be very sorely tempted. Not in anger, but in one case in sympathy, and in another in frustration. Good girl, bad girl.
12. If you were able to live to the age of 90 and retain either the body or the mind of a 30-year-old for the last 60 years of your life, which would you want?
Easy. Body. Assuming of course that the brain is part of the body (and I rather suspect that this is not what the questioner intended, but it is how I choose to interpret it). The 30-year-old has everything working well, including the brain, but the mind is only half developed. My brain was in much better condition when I was thirty, but my mind is in much better condition now. So I'd choose the body (including brain) of a 30-year-old to keep, and the mind of the 90-year old, with all the accrued wisdom. In fact, I wish I had had that when I was 30. However, this could be a curse. One would never be ready to die. (Which is where question #11 would come in handy.)
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