Today, my boss said, “You gotta sell thirty cars in three months, or else!” He said it in his usually perky, utterly unoffensive & wildly approachable tone, so I bit. I said, “Or else what?” Then he made a little spit-in-the-air and shoved his thumb over his shoulder. It was exactly the same thing my Grandma Flo did late in her life when moving, especially out of chairs, became difficult. As if the sound could somehow decrease her inertia. I think Gary Larson notates it thusly: pfffffft.
Anyway, so these boys are sitting in the show room talking to a very pretty woman who used to work here (gathering from what I overhear), and I’m here sending letters & working. Except for when I got angry and decided to make a blog entry. I spoke with my friend, Deanna, yesterday. She recounted, “Oh of course women are equal with men! Just look at Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire. But Ginger did it backward and in high heels.” I’m wearing high heels today and a skirt. One of the mikes looks like he dressed from the laundry chute.
I think I’m going to get a job waitressing. Maybe I can do the lunch shift over at the Hamilton. Five hours a day, fifty bucks a day, five days a week. that is what I want.
Here, I might just as well sit in silence. Answer phones, make xeroxes, direct traffic. That is what women do in the automotive industry in South Central PA. This place has leapt across the threshold of chauvinism and landed enthusiastically in misogyny.