Hello Sir, Again, Non-Fiction Pondering

Got called sir again.

Used to bother me. [Hello Sir]

Doesn’t any more.

What changed?

First off, this is the first time it has happened in the summer. Usually I have on a bulky jacket. [Farm vs Outdoor]

Apparel was a baseball cap with my hair tucked up, t-shirt, and shorts. Person in question was bank teller at the drive- thru window. Due to where I stopped, I had to get out of the truck to reach the sliding tray. So, they saw me from at least the waist up.

Now that I type this, I recall that a teller at a different branch also called me sir. In that instance, I stayed in the truck. So, all they saw was the side of my face in a hat. I barely registered the comment.

What so many hats? I put my long hair up to drive. Otherwise, rat’s nest.

Secondly, this is happening more often as I get older.

Years ago, I wanted to try short hair. Really short hair. The salon I chose refused to cut off as much as I wanted. Probably shouldn’t have gone to a “salon.” I forget why that place. I suspect someone recommended it. What do I know about hair care providers?

Anyway.

They cut about half off, leaving me with a shoulder-length bob. They dried it, styled it with an inward curl, and then – for some unremembered reason – did my face. It was astounding. I looked like an alternate universe version of myself who had just come from lunch at the club.

I went to my husband’s office. Told him to get a good look because he wasn’t ever going to see this again. Then, I went home, cleaned my face, and cut my hair off with a homemade cardboard guard and a pair of horse clippers.

My point is that the Southern US still holds to traditional presentations for women. Now that I’m getting older, it is even more noticeable that I do not. I don’t cover up my wrinkles to look! more! youthful! I don’t dye my hair. I don’t dress in a way that would have made my grandmother happy.

Which leads me to posit that if I really wanted to, I could conform to social norms. So maybe I don’t really care enough.

When I say social norms, there’s no rulebook. No one says I have to dress in a particular manner. It’s a matter of expectation. The bank tellers don’t care which restroom I use. They are used to seeing older women present a certain way. Therefore, they make assumptions based on the aggregate of their experience with customers. Casual dress. Wrinkles. No make up. Gotta be a dude.

As is becoming standard, the bank teller was more apologetic about the misgendering than I was bothered by it.

So why do I not care anymore? I see three interrelated reasons.

1) I’m getting used to it.

2) I blame the South.

3) It joins a list of things about which I no longer give a shit.

A question for those who don’t live where I do. The US South is more likely to use formal terms of address such as sir or ma’am. I suspect other places have gone toward more gender-neutral greetings?

~~~

Update. Re restrooms. Actually, the bank teller might care deeply about restrooms, given that the exchange took place in a deeply red state. My point in the paragraph was that the teller didn’t care which I was and took a best guess.

Afterword

Non-fiction 4U. Bloggers are going though a spate of losing horses and surprise buying.

The Bad News

Equine Ink: My Beautiful Zelda is Gone

“We all know losing a horse is not just losing a horse. You lose your best friend, you lose the dreams, goals, hard work, and the parts of your identity tied to the horse. Not to mention the money.” Contact: Sit in the mud.

” … parts of your identity tied to the horse …” This resonated with me. It is also true when a horse goes lame or doesn’t work out. Is tying your identity to how you ride a healthy practice? Shrug. Your actions constitute a segment of your identity. If you are not doing X, then the X segment of your identity withers.

“But everyone needs someone to sit in the mud with them. You might get dirty as well. It might be uncomfortable. But just sit there. In the mud. No agenda.” Contact: Sit in the mud

Dances With Horses: In a galaxy far, far away now

Equine Ink: Art Collector Euthanized Due to Laminitis

Seriously, what is going on with horses out there?

The Good News

“Other people need to fill the hole in their hearts with another horse. I’m one of those people … I have found another horse and will introduce him in my next post. He was a horse that needed me as much as I needed him.” Equine Ink: Processing Grief

“There’s a whole lot about this that’s…. kiiiiinda impulsive. And a whole lot that decidedly was not.” ‘fraidy cat eventing: Mondeuse

“Box stall shipping is flat rate, ie the same cost for one weanling as for two … I sat on that knowledge for three and a half months. (Really, pause here, and appreciate my self control.) … Then, surprise! This week I said yes to two.” Raincoast Rider: Changes pending part 2

Although it feels like a wave, it is probably a statistical ghost. In any group, activities will overlap, such as several horses being injured at the same time. [Stall Rest Chronicles 25 Feb, Part of a Crowd]

Have you blogged about losing or buying a horse recently? LMK, I will add your post to the list.

Onwards!
Katherine