Today is Blog Against Sexism Day (another blholiday…who makes these up?). But I don’t know what to say against sexism other than that it’s, um, bad? I would be happy to respond to arguments for sexism, but I think most of the people who are pro-sexism don’t recognize it as “sexism” and don’t discuss it as such. So any such debate would necessitate concessions on the other side.

Instead, I shall blog about sexism, which I think is more in the spirit of the blholiday. The major points that I want to express are that sexism exists and that I and people I know have experienced it.

I generally live my life according to the principle that people are not out to get me, that I will be recognized for my excellence if I am excellent, my incompetance if I am incompetent. I don’t usually go into situations thinking that I’m going to be discriminated against (exceptions are discussed below). I know people who do act this way, and they drive me crazy. I also, however, don’t deny that sexism exists. There was a great show a while back called Black White wherein two families (two adults and one teen each) swapped races by day and lived together by night. The white man (who was black by day) kept lecturing the black man (who was white by day) about how he only felt discriminated against because he went into situations thinking that he would be. This really made me feel ashamed to be white. In any case, I don’t deny sexism nor do I wear it on my sleeve. I further admit that I am a privledged woman. I’m white. I’m educated. I’m American. I have just about everything going for me except that I’m a woman. So my stories may be read by women of color (or men of color) and certainly, when read next to other stories, they are examples of moderate sexism. But I think that defines the problem; the very fact that a PWW has stories like this underlines the fact that this is still a problem and we still need to deal with it.

Automobiles including buying, servicing, and everything in between.

When I was shopping for my car, whom I love, I brought my father & my husband with me at alternate times. Each time, I knew what I was looking for in a car and was happy to have a person with a penis on hand to talk to the salesman (and they were men) about horsepower, torque, and cornering. I was much more interested in safety, mileage, and lifespan. But I had done my homework and already knew what I wanted. For the most part, as far as I was concerned, I had a man on hand to distract the salesmen while I looked at the parts of the car I wanted to. It was nice to be left alone. I don’t know what I would have done without said man on hand, since I don’t speak the language of horsepower and torque (I know something about cornering) and I had a hard time convincing them to talk about my issues.

When I took my car to the dealer (it’s still new enough that they’ll service it for free) most recently, I ended up in the waiting room with two other women. We discussed our cars and what we liked about them (horsepower nor torque were mentioned, incidentally) and what they were in for. All three of us were professionals, not that that may mean anything. Every once in a while, the man who was in charge of the service department would come in and either discuss a car with one of us or look for someone who wasn’t there. At one point, he was explaining to one of the women what was wrong with her car & what he recommended. At one point he said, “Oh. So you understand the principle of thermodynamics!” and then continued, with a slightly increased level of technical terms. When he left, she turned to the other two of us and said, “I’m a high school chemistry teacher! Of course I know about thermodynamics!” To which we agreed that the man was a sexist boob. I know he couldn’t have known that she was a teacher, but I took enough science in high school to understand the principles of thermodynamics. My high school may not be representative of most high schools, but I generally assume that, if I learned something that long ago, whomever I’m talking to probably also knows it. I don’t know if he would have assumed that a man who took his car to the dealer service center didn’t know about thermodynamics, but…

Unless its to the dealer, where I know the guy I’ll be dealing with and respect him (I hope it’s mutual) (the guy above was different), I always bring my husband with me if my car has anything wrong with it. I simply don’t trust the mechanics not to try to pull one over on me. Now, maybe that means I go in asking for it, but as I said, I don’t go in alone. My old boss used to ask my husband what certain things would cost for her car so that she was armed when she went in. For some reason, it seems to be a universal truth that women know less than men about cars. I get the feeling that even Danica Patrick has to bring her man in to get her car serviced.

Dentists and maybe doctors, too, but I’ve had more good doctors than good dentists

For some reason, trips to the dentist are exercises in Who Can Offend Miko The Most. At the most recent visit, the hygienist kept making comments about how female bikers (I rode my bike ’cause it’s just around the corner) are worse bikers than male bikers and that drivers know this and give them more room when passing. He also told me that bikers wearing helmets are more likely to get into accidents, so I can pretty much ignore anything he says.

Every time I go to the dentist, I am offered whitening. My teeth are whiter than my husband’s and we go to the same dentist. And yes, I would eventually like to get them whiter & brighter! when time & money permit, but at that time, I will ask for it. My husband says that he has never been offered whitening. This most recent time, they didn’t just offer it, they asked me when I would like to come back for it. It seemed to be very difficult to convince them that I didn’t want it (”I care nothing for my appearance and am a horrible sexbot because of it!”).

The Workplace Ah, the workplace. I have not experienced discrimination as far as I know within the workplace. But here are close friends who have:

A co-worker of mine and her husband both worked at my old workplace. She worked right next to me, he on a different floor. So I can attest to her productivity if not to his. Each of us had a different manager. As far as I’m concerned, the issue that follows may have been more a function of the managers in question than the workers, but the effect was distressing none the less. She and I worked on the two hardest accounts in the office. I’m not bragging or complaining, that was just sort of universally accepted as the case in our office. She worked late much more often than I did and was held to higher standards than I was (which is to say, her accounts were audited more often, so I was able to get away with more). Her husband worked on an account which, while I won’t call it easy, since it had really high volume, had special procedures in place that meant that a lot of the stuff we had to deal with daily he never had to deal with. When they got their performance reviews (and they knew what the other got since they were married) he was given a much higher raise and a much higher bonus than she was. She ended up quitting because of it. I don’t know the gender of his manager, but her manager was a woman and was known to treat her male subordinates differently than her female subordinates.

I recently went golfing for the first time with two (female) former co-workers. One of whom was a lawyer we worked with daily, so I feel she merits the title “co-worker” even though she didn’t share an office or employer with me. At the 19th hole, after a few drinks and appetizers (this was before Lent, John, I’m still dry), she discussed the fact that, no matter how well she does (she was the highest biller last year) she knows that she’ll never make partner. She’s the only woman at the small law firm and by all accounts, one of the best they’ve got. Her comment worries me because she’s not the sort of person to use sexism as a copout. As someone who wants to be a lawyer, I realize that I’m going to have to look at the current number of partners and the ration of women in them at any firm I want to join. I don’t mind being the first, but I need to know that it’s possible.

Incidentally, at the golf course (and I think this still qualifies as “the workplace”), there are three starting points: the men’s tee, the women’s tee, and one halfway between. At this point in my golfing career, I can’t imagine that 10 feet is going to make a difference in my par at the end of the day, it’s just aggrevating that it’s right there, spelled out.