A genius or just blonde?
April 30, 2013 § 1 Comment
Posted Oct 4 2011
Every time I start a new job, or meet professionals, I sometimes feel my intellect is underestimated. People can be astounded when I give well-contrived multi-syllabic retort. Blown away by my outspoken basic logic. Simply floored when low and behold I have a more productive solution than the one they came up with.
I sport the blonde locks and have a pair of tits, but surely this isn’t an advertisement for a lower than average IQ. It’s got to be a misconception or I’m really a genius, turning the other cheek to the stupidity I’m surrounded by. I can’t tell if they’re just amazed I’m intelligent, or if they really just want to build my ego. It’s a weird paradox, and probably a gender thing.
I’m an independent contractor, two leanly toned guns for hire. I must adapt quickly to an array of personalities and lots of large egos. Most of these egos, male, and most of them wouldn’t know how to treat me even if there were pictorial directions on the back of my box. Seriously, I’ve had a director spend four weeks avoiding eye contact and I know he had successfully built an Ikea desk.
Don’t get me wrong, I play by their rules. I could write a textbook on acting like “one of the boys.” Sexual harassment? Please. The amount of philandering in the entertainment industry is more of a hazing ritual than a serious violation of employment code. Dick jokes, profanity, and the celebration of bodily functions is widely accepted and participated in by superiors. Manners have no place here. I call it “production mouth,” and you shouldn’t kiss your mother with it.
The first day is always a pissing contest. I usually stay quiet and let the bigger personalities measure their dicks over and over. When it comes to actually tackling an objective, that’s when I chime in. Work smarter not harder, right? Most women understand that, but men sometimes calculate worth in the quantity rather than quality. Did I say “sometimes?” They rather a quick answer, a fix-it-later mentality. And I’m the genius for actually wanting to do it right the first time? They say, “wow, that’s smart.” It’s almost backhanded recognition. These are the same kids who would always forgot to put their name on the top of their paper in the 4th grade.
There lies my struggle: do they really think I’m smart, or are they just surprised I’m smart? Or do they veil their defeat in surprise because they can’t admit that I, all woman of me, could be just plain better?
Sure, on a long enough time line my true value comes through and we are able to work as adults, but before that it’s an uncomfortable song and dance. You can’t dress too girly, or they get intimidated, you can’t dress too casual or they don’t take you seriously. You have to be quick witted, take a joke and give it right back in the same breath. Your sarcasm must be sharp and you have to be light hearted yet firm when a joke goes too far. You may reveal a sliver of your personal life to make a trusted connection, but once you do you should quickly change the subject to sports and never speak of it again.
It’s exhausting and insulting. Then they gasp when you prove your worth as though it comes as a shock to them that you have a brain, let alone it could be better then theirs. Boys. That age-old excuse, boys will be boys. If I could, I’d shove some of my own intelligence up their asses just so it would be a better work environment.
However, another colloquialism: Rome wasn’t built in a day, ladies.