Ignoring ignorance

In the evenings, because I have nothing better to do than earn money to pay the man, after my full-time job, I wait tables at a certain nationally-known family restaurant, one you'd find along most interstates. Last night while on a smoke break, I was chatting it up with a couple of the grill cooks and a manager who were also playing a game of catch with a package of napkins. Why napkins? Why not, I guess. Anyway, the manager admonished one of the grill cooks for throwing "like a girl."

I could have let it go.

I didn't. I let a lot of things go - but that's just one of those comments that really irks me. Partially because it's sexist. But more so because I am a girl, and I can throw harder and farther than most of the men I know. Granted, I hang out with non-athletic, intellectual types, but this just further proves my point - athletic ability is not tied to gender.

I digress.

My objection to the remark and subsequent demonstration of how this girl throws, led to more discussion, my use of the word misogynist (in jest), my necessary explanation of the word misogynist, and half-hearted protest from the twenty-something grill cook who claimed that he "loves women" and could not possibly be sexist, followed by more discussion. And another cigarette (because, well, it was slow in the restaurant last night and I'd already earned my $2.16 an hour making sweet tea for the bastards).

At this point a third grill cook stepped into the break area - I have no idea who was actually making the food at this point, but not my concern - and upon hearing the discussion going on said to the woman-lover that he should keep it down because "isn't someone here a . . . feminist?" The best part is that he whispered the F-word.

No wait, the best part is that the woman-lover, who was standing slightly behind me as I ashed my cigarette, shiftily pointed to me and this caused the whisperer to blush a little. Or maybe it was fear that colored his cheeks.

I am not a doormat. I am ferocious. Hear me roar.

As I said before, I hold my tongue most of the time. Especially at the restaurant, one famous for recent lawsuits involving discriminatory behavior. On one hand this makes me a bad feminist, but on the other hand, I have a fourteen year old to feed and since I don't own a farm, not even one cow, I need the extra cash. So I try my best to ignore the ignorance. I've only discussed the F-word with one or two other servers, but apparently that is enough to have it spread through the place like porn on the internet.

"See that waitress over there? She's one of those damned, hippie feminists! Can you believe it?!"

As if I am a Satanist. Or a pedophile.

I think to them, those choices are less frightening.