I try to listen in on the operators while they are at work in case I hear a phone call go off the rails – I can then walk across the hall and help out.
Today, I heard the only male operator currently on staff (other than me) joke with his female co-worker that his mom said that she thought he “sounded gay” on the phone. They laughed about it and he deliberately shifted his voice to sound – at least by his ear – more gay. His co-worker said she didn’t think he sounded gay when he answered the phones and the conversation moved on.
I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t figure out how to out myself and turn the conversation around without coming across as angry. There wasn’t malice there, just a sort of causal stereotyping.
And I was a little ashamed at myself for feeling a small surge of pride that I’d passed – again – for being straight. As those hiding who I was should have earned me a prize.
That instinct, born from fear, to hide what I am when I can – well, it reared its ugly head again.
Many years ago, I was out to one of my co-workers and he and I were walking across campus with one of our student assistants. The student made some mildly offensive comment about being gay and my co-worker thought it would be amusing to goad the student into digging themselves into a hole. It went on for a few minutes before I, disgusted with both of them, outed myself.
The student was mortified and I tried to downplay it. His opinion of me didn’t matter much and again, there wasn’t real malice there.
Years earlier, when I was still all the way in the closet, I went to Vegas for a long weekend trip with my boyfriend at the time. We got in a cab to go to a show and the driver asked if we were in town for the consumer electronics convention. My boyfriend said we were just in town for a vacation. The driver then asked if were were visiting from San Francisco. In those few words that my boyfriend said, the cabbie had guessed – correctly – that he was gay. And by extension, so was I. We told him we were from Ohio and the conversation ended.
It was a scary moment for me. I usually don’t “sound” gay. With a little effort, I can pass as straight in most circumstances – though no disguise holds up to long term scrutiny and I’m certain that I’m not as successful as I think I am.
But, there I was, a long way from home and suddenly outed. My guard went up and I raced through fight or flight plans by the dozen. It amounted to nothing, but the incident stuck with me.
Now, all those years later, I still find myself hiding when I can – because I can.
When Jim and I go out to eat, we’re likely to get seated in the bar area so we can watch “the sports”. The hostesses, at least, are fooled.
It’s easy and it doesn’t cost much effort to not hold hands, to pass. But there is a cost. And by letting my student assistant “get away” with his comment – no matter how innocuous – I fed right into that.
I should have gone across the hall and said something. I should have embarrassed him, even if just a little. I should have… I don’t know. Done something, said something.
And maybe I still will. The importance of the lesson outweighs my inclination to not bring it up. I’ve been sitting here writing and trying to figure out what to say and how to say it. And I guess I have it figured out enough that I’m going to take him aside and try to explain when he’s next in the office.
It doesn’t matter if he know I’m gay or not. Except, maybe, it does. And maybe we can both learn a little.