The Workplace--A Heteronormative Realization

Hello Internet Folk,

So I know I have already posted a blog today about the Texas GOP Platform, but I came across some experiences at work today that I felt compelled to divulge in the name of being a feminista.

The first situation was during my lunch break. I work at parking garages around campus, and four days a week I work at the hospital ramp. So during my daily trek to the cafeteria to microwave my scrumptious homemade bean and vegetable soup and read some form of literary excellence, I was confronted with the ever present stigma of what it means to be queer in society.

As I was walking by the table of male latino custodial workers, I heard the normal Spanish chit-chatting. That was until, distinctively in English (I have gotten to the point when I realize there's a language shift, which makes me both sad and relieved... but that's a different language oriented tangent) one of the men said, "Look, there's the lesbian!"

Now, I hear a fairly regular amount of queer slurs and tokenizations, but this really struck me. He went out of his way to say in English, so I would understand (little does he know I studied Spanish for 5 years and taught in Guatemala for 3 months) that he knew (well, thought he knew) what I was. That being an anomaly, something you don't see everyday.... The Lesbian. Now, his tone of voice didn't sound particularly harsh to me, moreso sexually suggestive. That aside, the fact that he went out of his way to tokenize me makes me wonder, does he not realize he sees more than one queer identified individual on a regular basis? That he probably works with many without him knowing?

I always find it interesting when people say they don't know queer people, that's why they don't like them. I'm willing to bet that everyone in any society knows at least one closeted queer person, if not others living in stealth or outwardly. The fact that people are still tokenizing this one queer in all their gender transgressing glory they think they are accomplishing something. Wake up people, there's queers in your neighborhood.

So after I return from my thirty-minute meal break, I sit down and get comfortable. A man comes up to the booth to get a patient visitor's pass. This is a routine procedure, so it's never a big deal. He was a tall African American man with stellar dreads, massive amounts of tattoos, and a thick build. He looks at me and says, "Don't look so mean."

I looked at him perplexed, I wasn't in any sort of bad mood and I'm pretty sure my facial creases were in their full and upright position, a usual clear sign of happiness. I asked him what made me look so mean. His response almost startled me. He said, "Well, you have short hair and you're dressed like a dude (Our uniforms are ever so sexy men's jean button-up shirts and I was wearing a pair of men's cargo shorts). "

Basically what he was saying, whether he knew it actively or not, was that because I don't follow the protocol for "normal" female-bodied persons, I'm mean, harsh, un-womanlike. Now, I don't identify as a woman, but I found this so profoundly offensive. Not because he was assuming I was a woman, but because he thought women who didn't conform to expectations were harsh in nature. I'm the first to admit that I have my aggressive or frustrated moments, but generally I'm pretty amiable and congenial.

It made me think about why this man, who seemingly took pride in being a mans-man who was tough and had the tats to show it, felt that he needed to tell me not to be "so mean." He was trying to put me into my place, trying to remind me of what a woman is supposed to be like.

Well screw that. Us wombyn will be "mean" if we damn well please. If you don't like it, move along, we don't have time for your petty accusations.

Cheers to all my feministas out there,

Rae