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Stories from a man who fails to meet media expectations of what it means to be gay:
white, frivolous, over sexed yet sexless, shrill, single, stylish, a clown, unimportant, et al.
03/04/2003
I do not particularly enjoy her company
Last week by coincidence, some people who work for a certain government agency all ended up having lunch at the Village, a worn down shopping center near USC. Sadly, I was one of them. When the person I was working with that day suggested we go there for lunch I should have said no.
It's not that I don't mind having lunch with coworkers; it's just that one of the people who ended up eating there that day was Nola.
I do not particularly enjoy her company. Nola is a complainer. Not your everyday/normal commiserating with fellow employees about the follies of your organization kind of complaining, but instead the constant whine of moaning about the unfairness of her life kind. It's a good thing that we do not work in the same office, because she is only tolerable in small doses. If we were forced to work together constantly, the strain of forcing myself to not bitch slap her would prove to be too much, and I'd go insane.
She's that bad.
Nola's main complaint this time around was the insanity of working mothers. As she put it, "Every other county in the world is sane and expects women to stay home, but not here in this crazy America. Women must have the same rights as men, bah, it is so stupid."
I sort of doubt that she ever took any courses on feminism when she was working on her Masters.
As she continued her diatribe, I did not mention that working mothers were hardly a solely American phenomenon. I did not mention the hardships of being poor, or economics. I also ignored her belief that as a woman she was somehow not as good as a man, and I did not comment that if she and her husband were willing to do with less (smaller home, smaller car), they could probably survive on his salary.
During a lengthy section of complaining about all the house work she was behind on, I did not ask why her husband, if he so superior in ability and intellect to her, was unable to help with dinner, or cleaning, or laundry, or grocery shopping, or playing with the kids, or making the beds, or helping the kids with their homework, or paying the bills, or even feeding the pets.
I did not respond to any of the bizarreness spouting from her mouth, because having had long and utterly useless conversations with her in the past, I knew there was no point. It is apparently beyond her ability to consider other view points, to consider that perhaps she may be wrong about something. No matter how bizarre or crazed her position may be, she must be right, and there is no point arguing.
This is after all, a woman who once told me that when African Americans are discriminated against, it is the fault of that individual, while when people of her race are discriminated against, it's racism.
The only person who did in fact say anything to Nola about all this was another woman who said she loved to work and would hate being stuck home all the time. Nola called her Americanized and crazy.
More later,
nico