Political Correctness Be Damned
18/07/15 07:09
Waking up this morning to a sweet and gentle rain. Didn't see that coming. I'm glad I made it a point to roll up the windows in the car last night. Also feeling good about the fact that I mowed the lawn yesterday like the dutiful husband that I am. I would have been chanting "get er done before the rain starts falling" had I known the rain was coming. Truth be told, I would have sooner grabbed a nap yesterday given how I was feeling and nearly nodded off while sitting on the couch. I would have fallen asleep had Nancy not started laughing at me as she watched me close one eye after the other as I sat there doing nothing in particular. I was wanting to get the lawn done before the weekend and I had my hair cut earlier in the afternoon so was feeling the wind at my back and the last thing I wanted to do was to nod off and lose my momentum. The plan was simple: while Evan and Nancy went to Exeter I was going to mow the lawn and tidy up the yard. It was all about putting one foot after another till it was done. Nothing more, nothing less. I've never understood why people pay other people to do something like this when it is such a satisfying thing to do. Maybe I should qualify that by say, for me anyway. Suffice it to say there are a lot of things I don't understand and never will. This is one of many
If I hear one more fucking person say that we need to have a national conversation about this or that I am going to jump out of my skin. I'm reminded of a Youtube video I was looking at yesterday where some transsexual or transgender person was making a point about wanting to have a national conversation about sexual identities and gender transformations. This person appeared to be a women but when she opened her mouth you knew in an instant that it was a man. Everything about her from that point on was muscular, masculine, and quite frankly, freakish. When she threatened to send one of the forum participants home in an ambulance in response to what I considered to be inane comment, I sat there wishing that someone, anyone, would stand up and beat the living daylights out of her until her mascara stained the floor on the set. It had more to do with her stridency than anything else and it was no different than taking sides in a bare knuckled death match where the participants were equally matched and you placed your bets in advance of the event. But, no, I don't want to have a conversation about this nonsense. Stop asking us to consider it "normal." It isn't. Stop asking us to pass laws to protect you from discrimination. They already exist and don't need to be tailored to your specific case. Stop teaching our children that this is part and parcel of the fabric of our society because it fails to meet that standard. Feel free to have your conversation but leave me out of it. Just leave me out of it. Please.
So there we were. There were six or seven of us sitting in a conference room talking about different models and different variations on a particular theme. One a time, the participants stood up at the board and drew this or that while making a point here and there. There were six women in the room and then there was me. Not a big deal. I never even gave it a second thought. No need to. It was and has been the norm for a while now. How I ended up with an all female staff is another question for another day. Anyway, one woman in particular stood at the board with her back to us and made a statement to the effect, "who has been putting things in my box." It was true that we were drawing things in boxes here and there on the board so her comment on its face was not unusual or odd in any sense of the word. Out of nowhere, the facilitator chimes in with the following response: "Honey, if you don't know who's been in your box, that's a problem." To a person, the women in the room gave in to giggling and squirming in their seats as though I wasn't even there. I sat stone faced afraid to let on that I even understood what they were talking about while one after another added their own comments not stepping away from the fray even for a moment.
It was, in a word, surreal. Even women who I wouldn't think would participate in such ribaldry jumped in with both feet and I did my level best to stay professional while praying to the baby Jesus that someone would change the subject. Maybe I should take comfort in the fact that they felt confident enough of our relationship both as a group and with me as their manager that they could indulge in such a thing without fear of retribution or criticism. As much as I wanted to share that moment with others I could not. I could not do so without obligating someone to report it as a form of sexual impropriety and one that could potentially imperil one or more careers in the process. I refuse to turn a light-hearted moment amongst friends and co-workers into an act of deviancy and misconduct in the eyes of our corporate overseers. Political correctness be damned. I'll take this frivolity to my grave before I betray the confidences of my beloved co-workers. Then again, maybe it is all in my head. Then again, maybe not.
If I hear one more fucking person say that we need to have a national conversation about this or that I am going to jump out of my skin. I'm reminded of a Youtube video I was looking at yesterday where some transsexual or transgender person was making a point about wanting to have a national conversation about sexual identities and gender transformations. This person appeared to be a women but when she opened her mouth you knew in an instant that it was a man. Everything about her from that point on was muscular, masculine, and quite frankly, freakish. When she threatened to send one of the forum participants home in an ambulance in response to what I considered to be inane comment, I sat there wishing that someone, anyone, would stand up and beat the living daylights out of her until her mascara stained the floor on the set. It had more to do with her stridency than anything else and it was no different than taking sides in a bare knuckled death match where the participants were equally matched and you placed your bets in advance of the event. But, no, I don't want to have a conversation about this nonsense. Stop asking us to consider it "normal." It isn't. Stop asking us to pass laws to protect you from discrimination. They already exist and don't need to be tailored to your specific case. Stop teaching our children that this is part and parcel of the fabric of our society because it fails to meet that standard. Feel free to have your conversation but leave me out of it. Just leave me out of it. Please.
So there we were. There were six or seven of us sitting in a conference room talking about different models and different variations on a particular theme. One a time, the participants stood up at the board and drew this or that while making a point here and there. There were six women in the room and then there was me. Not a big deal. I never even gave it a second thought. No need to. It was and has been the norm for a while now. How I ended up with an all female staff is another question for another day. Anyway, one woman in particular stood at the board with her back to us and made a statement to the effect, "who has been putting things in my box." It was true that we were drawing things in boxes here and there on the board so her comment on its face was not unusual or odd in any sense of the word. Out of nowhere, the facilitator chimes in with the following response: "Honey, if you don't know who's been in your box, that's a problem." To a person, the women in the room gave in to giggling and squirming in their seats as though I wasn't even there. I sat stone faced afraid to let on that I even understood what they were talking about while one after another added their own comments not stepping away from the fray even for a moment.
It was, in a word, surreal. Even women who I wouldn't think would participate in such ribaldry jumped in with both feet and I did my level best to stay professional while praying to the baby Jesus that someone would change the subject. Maybe I should take comfort in the fact that they felt confident enough of our relationship both as a group and with me as their manager that they could indulge in such a thing without fear of retribution or criticism. As much as I wanted to share that moment with others I could not. I could not do so without obligating someone to report it as a form of sexual impropriety and one that could potentially imperil one or more careers in the process. I refuse to turn a light-hearted moment amongst friends and co-workers into an act of deviancy and misconduct in the eyes of our corporate overseers. Political correctness be damned. I'll take this frivolity to my grave before I betray the confidences of my beloved co-workers. Then again, maybe it is all in my head. Then again, maybe not.