give it to me straight

My mom called me at work one day and said a family friend's boss's son needed an assistant for three businesses he was juggling. The family friend put in a great word for me (and they respect her so her recommendation is gold) and he agreed to meet with me. Bam. Just like that. The work seemed decent and best of all, no more working with the public. The only drawback was the pay wasn't great and there were no benefits. But I kept leaning toward no more working with the public.

I kept thinking how it all worked out so well. An office job with recommendation from an insider. And I had a day off from working coming up so I could take that day to do the interview and it wouldn't interfere with my current job. Perfect.

I met the man at his father's restaurant. It was empty because they weren't open for lunch yet. The man, M, was short and overweight, a roly poly kind of guy with a round, young face and closely cropped gray hair. His cheeks and chin jutted out when he smiled. His skin was shiny and ruddy around his hazel eyes. He did not walk but waddled. He wore a shirt and jeans and dirty white sneakers.

We sat down and he told me a little about his businesses. He has three and he also deals with his family's personal finances. His family is rich and they have several sources of income and I guessed he needed someone to help him keep everything in order.

It was apparent from the beginning of our conversation that M wasn't articulate but he was extremely southern. He spoke with a grating country cadence and often raised his voice toward the end of his sentences. He paused several times as if he were trying to collect words from his head before he said them. He mentioned the job didn't necessarily have a title since I would be doing a little of everything. I wasn't worried about job titles, only the duties. Fortunately, they were duties I had done during previous jobs or duties I felt confident I could do if given the proper instruction. It wasn't neurobiology we were dealing with here. I was going to be faxing and using Excel and taking out the trash.

He asked me to tell him about myself and I did and then he sat back, his squat, chapped face stretched into a mischievous grin. He stared up at the florescent lights, again trying to find his words.

"So, tell me this...hm...so basically...well, let me tell you where I'm coming from...what my concern is...it seems to me like you're going from A to Z. You went to college to be an artist and you've got this degree. And now you wanna be a secretary. You see what I'm sayin'?"

I basically explained the best I could, downplaying my crazy, that I had a change of heart after I graduated and wasn't sure if I wanted to pursue art and decided to change my direction. He said he encountered a similar situation after he graduated from college so he understood but he was concerned, if I took the job, I would pack up and leave after two months or so. I assured him I wouldn't do that. I pointed out I've been at my current job for three years now. And if I didn't get that job, I'd probably have to stick with it for another three years because these opportunities rarely come along.

In some ways, I could understand his concern or just curiosity over why I made such a radical change. But in other ways, it made me feel bad, as if he were implying that I was downgrading myself or that the job was beneath me. First of all, nothing is beneath me. The job might be beneath my education but not beneath me. I'm just not uppity like that. And I told him I enjoy being organized and doing office work. It's easy and I don't have to deal with the public and it wouldn't be so stressful that I couldn't work on my writing or even pick up art again on the side.

The problem with my job now is that it's so stressful and dealing with the public gives me such bad anxiety that I'm emotionally and mentally exhausted at the end of the day and have no creative output within me.  I wasn't necessarily aiming to move up as far as a job goes, but just to find something to lower my stress levels.  And that seemed like the kind of job to do it.

And then he said if I were hired, he'd have to get into the mindset of a man doing the job because he envisioned a woman filling the position. I was slightly irritated by that but it wasn't a deal breaker.

The deal breaker came a week later.

He made an appointment for me to come in and take a tour of his office and meet the other person he has working for him. His office was adjacent to his home. I walked in through the back and entered the garage, which was filled with gigantic gray filing cabinets. The garage led into a den, which contained two computers on a large brown folding table, more filing cabinets and walls lined with shelving and manila folders. The next room was an uncomfortably tiny and outdated kitchen that looked like it hadn't been updated since the reign of the Partidge family. The main office was a den with two shiny brown desks placed on either side of the room. Each desk contained two desktop computers and other office paraphernalia. Two gigantic potted plants, elephant ears I believe, stood beside the faded white door.  The paint had chipped off and the wood looked slightly eroded. The carpet was a dull white and stained. The place surely wasn't fancy.

M got right into it and sat down at the computer and showed me all the programs they used. Then he showed me all the other rooms in the building, the offices of the other two people who work for him, his office, the two bathrooms (once again reminiscent of 70's pale paisley yellow with split linoleum and more stained floors), his office, more storage rooms and filing cabinets.

I was slightly overwhelmed because, as I said, he has his hands in several businesses and he also wanted me, if hired, to handle his personal finances and the personal finances of his mother, father, and grandfather. Oh, God. I can't even handle my finances. He gave me the example of the previous employee of his who didn't check on a payment for his ninety-two-year-old grandfather's cancer policy and it almost lapsed. He didn't blame her for it because they all thought the payment was supposed to be automatically deducted but for some reason it wasn't. And I just kept wondering if something like that were to happen on my watch. I'd feel awful if I screwed up an elderly man's cancer policy.

I suppose I was just nervous because it was different work than what I was used to. It didn't look like hard work, just several little things that I would need to stay on top of, and I tried to reassure myself that I could do it if I'd just be given the proper direction and enough time to feel confident.

Then he left the office and let me talk to the lady, G, who I would work with the most out of all the ones in the office, including M, as he said he'd probably be in and out all day. She was in her late 50's with a sagged face, drawn on eyebrows and stringy gray hair loosely pulled away from her face with a single hairpin. I asked her questions about the nature of the job and M and what her favorite and least favorite things about the job were and her answers were generic and not revealing but satisfactory enough. She seemed content.

Then she left and they discussed me and then M came back in and we had a final talk.

He said he called my references and they had good things to say about me. Then he said he looked on my Facebook and he said none of the things he found on there surprised him. I didn't know if that was good or bad. Then he said he randomly messaged one of my high school classmates and asked her about me. I thought that was weird considering how high school was almost ten years ago and I am not the same person I was ten years ago and so any depiction of me by someone else would probably be inaccurate by this point. Fortunately, she said good things about me as well. But she said I had feminine qualities.

And then he dropped the bomb on me.

He thought I had feminine qualities too. And in my Facebook profile picture, I'm wearing a shirt and bow tie. And he found that feminine. And the fact that I went to art school. And the fact that I write. And eventually he just came out with it and thought there was a possibility that I was gay. He said whether I was or not wasn't the concern but the perception of me being gay could potentially hurt his business.

And as he said it, he stuttered and got flustered and his shiny face got redder. He kept comparing me to a football player. "You're just not the jock type."  Well, shit, M, look at you!  The closest thing you have in common with a jock is you're shaped like a football.

"You've probably never even turned on SportsCenter, have you?" he asked.

He said when he thought of me, he saw me as a men's department salesman and that I fit perfectly in my current job.  Thanks, ass. I'm glad when you think of me, with all my education and near impeccable reputation, you just go to a clothing salesman. 

Then he said he was just a good ol' boy country redneck and he could tell I was not that way at all. He was concerned that some small-minded business partners of his or certain clients that came in and saw me at the desk would get to wondering if I was a big queer, 'cause guys don't work behind desks and they don't wear slacks. He didn't use those words but he didn't have to because that's what he implied.

The sheer idiocy of his statements made me shake. Let's be honest. I know I'm not butch. I am artistic and sensitive and like to write poetry. But that doesn't mean I also like to suck cock. And I explained that to him. I might have shattered his world but I informed him not all artists are gay. News flash! And I even know that maybe some of my mannerisms are borderline feminine but that's also because I was raised primarily by my mother and lived with an older sister and I've probably picked up on their behaviors over the years.

We spent two hours discussing this. He kept stumbling over his words, trying to explain himself, trying to reduce the severity of his concerns. And the whole time I just wanted to give him a reality check and tell him how stupid and small-minded he was and anyone else who would assume an artist is gay or that a male working in an office environment is gay.  Sure, some artists are gay and some office workers are gay.  But there are also gay men out there who are gruff and butch and like to hunt and smoke and fish and drink and wear cowboy boots and Wranglers, just the same as those good ol' straight-laced country boys who are afraid of effeminate men.  They would never see those type of gay guys coming until they had a dick up their ass.  

And then he tried to go back to my concern about screwing up their finances, possibly to release some of the pressure of his previous statements. He told me I was one of the most educated people to come across his desk and he had no worries at all that I would do a good job. And then he reassured me by saying the previous lady who worked there used to pick eggs off conveyor belts for twelve years and she picked up on things quickly. Well, I'm glad I could follow up that act. Thanks again.

But he also said if it weren't for that family friend giving me such a glowing recommendation, he wouldn't have even considered me. A man working in his office? No way, toss the application.

He did end up offering me the job.

I was annoyed because, despite all the great reviews from my references, he still hesitated to hire me based on a possibility, a perception, based on my personality and how I behave. Although it wasn't his intention, he implied there was something wrong with me, that I was too different for this small town. He said if we lived in a larger city, we wouldn't even be having this discussion but I'm too radical for Bumfucksville, AL.

It didn't even bother me that he thought I might be gay. I've actually had people think that about me before and it's whatever 'cause I don't think there's anything wrong with being gay. What bothered me was that it mattered to him.

Side note: I know there are going to be some readers who will side with M and say he's just trying to protect his business and he's just looking out for his business's best interests.  And you know what?  There is a small part of me that understands that.  But only a very small part because it would be one thing if I came in dressed like a thug with gold teeth and a tear drop tattoo or wore goth makeup and a shirt that says "God is a Lie" or some other extreme like that where I could be considered offensive to a certain group.  But it's not like I went in there with a rainbow flag sticking out of my ass.  And I will never see how being nice and artistic and hard-working and articulate would be considered offensive so I can't get behind the notion of him protecting his business in that regard.

I think it also sucks that, by being apprehensive to hire me, he is condoning and supporting ignorance and bigotry.  He said he doesn't personally have a problem with homosexuality but by allowing others to have a problem with it, he has a problem with it.

He also mentioned that he didn't think it would be a problem because I'd be in the office most of the time so I surmised that he figured as long as I was locked away in the office and not on location where my gayness would be exposed to his clients like bird flu, everything would be peachy. That didn't make me feel better at all.

I explained to him that I always thought being well spoken and polite and well groomed would help me out, would show that I was educated and my appearance would show a discipline that one would deduce would also apply to my work. He nodded his bobble head and said he agreed and then I said, "But apparently it's a double edged sword."

He leaned forward in his chair and pointed at me with his pointed grin and said, "Yes! It is a double edged sword!"

I told him I'd think about whether or not to accept his job offer and as I left, he said "Now, I don't know if you're gonna talk to your parents about this but if you do, be really careful what you say.  Explain it to your mama and daddy real well, okay? I don't want anyone talking mud about me."

I left completely dumbfounded.

Of course I told my mom and she stared at me, her mouth a hard straight line. I had no idea what she was thinking. I asked her and she said, "Well, frankly I'm embarrassed."

"Embarrassed how?" I asked.

"Embarrassed that he thinks you're gay."

"Wait..what?"

So, my mom wasn't embarrassed for him because she thought he was ignorant. She was embarrassed that anyone would think her son is gay because she doesn't want to have a gay son. So she's ignorant too. I HAVE A GREAT SUPPORT SYSTEM AT HOME.

The whole thing has left me annoyed and exhausted. I hate that I have to even still consider taking the job after that display of homophobia. It would be different if I didn't hate my current job and could just pass on this one and wait until something better comes along. But I fear nothing better will come along! I want out. I hate that I have to choose between two crappy jobs. I hate that my mom isn't being supportive.

I hate that I feel like if I don't take the job I'll be letting the family friend down. She really campaigned for me and I don't want to feel like I'm throwing away her hard work. I hate that this is even something I have to think about. I hate the fact that being nice and polite and well-dressed sums me up as gay, that just because I don't speak like a hick or wear cowboy boots that I'm effeminate. I always thought that would help me get ahead. But so far it's been hurting me.

One of the only benefits he relayed to me was that the work was not hard and would not take a long time to do. He said when I wasn't busy I could "play around on the Internet" and I asked him if I could write in my spare time, you know, because I'm gay so I like to write, and he said sure. Now, guys, I would get paid to write. That's not a paid-vacation-level benefit but that sounded pretty good to me. And there's this stupid part of me that wants to say screw him and his company. I'll just go in there and get my work done and spend the rest of the time writing so I can hopefully get a couple of books out and make enough money to eventually get out of there and find something better.

But is writing time worth the discomfort I know I will feel? I know I'll second guess every thing I say or do. I wouldn't want to accidentally flick my wrist or sip some hot coffee that'll cause my tongue to swell up and give me a gay lisp. I don't want to have to watch what I say or do in fear of coming across as gay, not that I even care if I come across as gay but I don't want to face any discriminatory ramifications because of it, you know what I mean? I don't need whispering behind my back or a pep talk from M asking me to butch it up for a client who might come into the office.

I'm pretty much leaning toward not taking the job, even sacrificing potential writing time and the chance to get away from the filthy public, because it wouldn't be worth lowering myself to try to appease a bunch of bigots. And even though I hate my current job, they love me. They don't question my behavior. They like me and my personality because, despite my writings, I'm a fun guy to be around. I don't get into drama and I like to make people laugh. And I like that they appreciate me for who I am and they compliment me on being well-mannered and groomed and they like it when I wear fucking bow ties.

So I'm back at zero.