It’s been a week since I started my new job in a factory-like environment, where everyday one does the same repetitive task for hours. I thought this would give me an opportunity to be alone with my thoughts (and earn money at the same time) and not have to comunicate with people (too much), but it appears to be the case that people will communicate with me, even if I don’t communicate with them.
I just want to do my job and then go home to some more me-time (as arrogant as that might sound). I can’t wait to step out of that infested cage that my co-workers inhabit. They are nice enough (meaning they call me Dominic and don’t beat me up for existing, at least not physically). But they just can’t help ‘being funny’. The only thing I find is funny is that they are talking to a wall, to someone who is so utterly removed from them as to not even live in the same universe (at least not the same head-space universe).
Their grand conduct is starting to piss me off, and it’s been only a week at work; how will I be able to shut myself off from them for a whole month? How can one be so immature as to laugh and make a ‘joke’ (something about genitalia) everytime someone asks for a ‘Gummi’ (a german word for elastic band that is also often used as a word for condom)….after the 100th time, it sort of gets a bit un-funny.
Here are some more comments I had to listen to:
Context: I had been talking about me trying to remove myself from gender, as I didn’t think it existed and that it was damaging to myself and others, so I told them about the double mastectomy and other life choices and being a Neutrois
“Well, that’s not very womanly and grown up to be running away from yourself, you seem to be more of a girl than a woman”
(Response (real or imagined): Well, that’s exactly my point: I am NOT a woman, deal with it!)
“Hey Dominic, don’t dream at work!” “She’s a bit of a dreamer”…
(First you call me Dominic, then you use the female pronoun; seems you haven’t learnt yor lesson…are you trying to turn me into a transwoman now, or what?)
Context: The supervisor came walking by (back and forth) smelling strongly of some (I am guessing ‘male’ perfume, though perfume has no gender) and then ended up talking to his intimates (the people who work for him but who he also relates to on a deeper level because they all have dicks) and goes and says:
“She MUST be a lesbian”
(I said before that I am anti-sexual, I am celibate. That does NOT make me a lesbian, because a lesbian would have a sexual orientation, whereas I have none. I like neither men nor women, nor indeed am I attracted to Neutrois or other people. I am NOT sexually attracted to anyone, I am repulsed by them! Just because I don’t drop down to the floor and start undressing and behaving all submissive to you and your colleagues, eventhough you are wearing perfume and smell so ‘manly’, that does not make me a lesbian. Get over it, man!)
“Well, I don’t understand you, it’s a lot to stomach”, one of his colleagues: “I don’t get it, either!”
(Yes, of course you had to say that to pledge allegiance to your superiour and make sure that everyone knows that you, too, are not into my ideas and can never understand how a woman (since I told them, after they just wouldn’t let go of the question, that I was born female) cannot want children and a man (someone apparently with ugly stinking parts hanging between their legs). UNFATHOMABLE)
Context: The men (people with dicks, in case anyone forgot how important they are) talked about female health issues after a female colleague mentioned why she wasn’t confident in getting her motorbike license. She said she often had pain in her pelvic area due to some issue with her bone health and structure. This prompted the men (de menz) to discuss in length female propensity to suffer from these issues and how it would affect their child-bearing capacities. Undoubtedly they will also have thought that, in fact, this might be the reason why I have not yet pressed a screaming little shit-head human out of my precious body.
(In fact, I don’t like pain and having to care for some ugly fucking human for the rest of my life; I am not into children (screaming little dirty fucking shits) and am rather fond of the no-child, no-copulation (ever) policy.
Context: I talked more in detail about why I wanted and eventually got a mastectomy. My fresh scars are still hurting, even while I am typing this now, and it’s a particularly sensitive and important issue for me. And what does one of those old-fashioned men say to me:
“Oh well, I know that some women get that done, because there’s cancer running in the family, and they are scared of getting cancer”
(So, mastectomy is allowed for any other reason than not liking your God-given breasts?)
These men at work are an interesting study of how the human brain can work to deny any and all evidence to an argument one does not agree with. The brain (and yes, even men are endowed with it, though they tend to focus on the fat down there) is an amazing organ and protects us as best it can from mental shock and things we don’t want to see. It seems even men are not immune to this.
So while they will continue (for how long, I wonder?) to study me and look or signs or lesbianism, mental illness, sexual deviance, or impotence (even a blink of an eye while talking about these things will be enough evidence for them to deem me such and such, because a blink of an eye will be considered a response and if I respond that means ‘YES” to whatever it is that men currently think about, eventhough a might’ve just blinked because that’s what humans tend to do when they sit for hours in front of a computer screen), I will continue to study them and all their short-comings as human beings and as beings who define themselves and almost everything around them/everything that affects them through the gender lens.
Funnily enough, I did not get any thoughts from the women co-workers on my ideals, other than something along the lines of “Well, each to their own” and “if you are happy with your choices”…..Apparently these women had no need to defend themselves from me and my ideas…