This square peg�s resentment simmered away for the next six months. In that time we received a new supervisor who quickly made her mark by making all kinds of sexist and confrontational jokes about men (�what are men good for?!�). As well, one staff member had a calendar with half-naked men hanging in open view off her cubicle wall.
The next nail in the coffin of my illusions that female-centric workplaces were happy came when a colleague, who had moved from my area to a new position in another office, rang me one day out of the blue and said she wanted to see me in the foyer. I felt like a spy joining a fellow conspirator but Bel quickly explained that she knew of a possible opening for me upstairs. I told her how desperate I was to escape my current rat trap and Bel told me something disturbing. When she had worked in my area she had suffered harassment in the workplace. Three other staff members had subjected her to ridicule, the silent treatment, and even physically shoving her. One of these conspirators was her boss. Alarmed and shocked by this I said, "did you do anything?" She said she had gone to the harassment officer in the Department who had done nothing.
I was to also learn that other staff who had gone to this officer had also been turned away. In one example a women who was being sent threatening emails by another women (a former friend who also worked at the Department) was told it was her problem! But Bel was now glad she had left my area. She explained that the women who had harassed her, had been threatened because Bel was a young and attractive woman and they, as Bel explained where: �fat, frumpy, middle-aged and self-loathing�. Now, being a good pro-feminist (men cannot be feminists) I would never think in those terms. But I respected what Bel had to say, especially as it came from another woman.
Bel wasn�t the only person that had had a belly-full of the female harassers. To prove her point that it wasn�t just her that found this director unpleasant, Bel pointed out that another group of staff (in another place in the Department) positively hated the dictatorial director. In fact they detested her so much that they had created a voodoo doll in her image complete with dyed red hair. When ever the said director rang them to complain they would pull out the voodoo doll and stick pins in it. In a final act of revenge the group gathered around in a near by car park and ran over it with a car until it was �dead.� At least one group of people had found a healthy way of dealing with their frustrations.
Bel told me how happy she was in her new job upstairs and encouraged me to apply for a position she knew was coming up in her office. Enthusiastically I said yes. Bel was offering me the first sign of hope that I might actually escape my rat trap. True to her word she arranged an interview for me with the Director of the office upstairs. The director�s name was Eunice.
A few weeks after Bel�s promise of hope I received a phone call from Eunice to attend an informal meeting. Eunice was a smartly dressed, petit and slim middle-aged lady in a two piece suit. Her manner was formal but very approachable. I mentioned during the interview that I was keen to progress in The Department and so far hadn�t had much success. I mentioned my unhappiness with my current work environment and Eunice expressed surprise. But Eunice was keen for me to work in her Branch and with my new supervisor, Jane. There was a brief pause then, oddly, she moved her chair back slightly and said, �there is something I have to tell you.�
I immediately wondered what that something could be. �There have been some problems,� Eunice confided. �Jane was once John. Some people have had problems with that. How would you feel working with Jane?� I immediately made an open-gesture with my hands extending them in an expansive, outward motion. �I�m gay, so I see no problem working with Jane�. But my right hands hit the papers on the table in front of me and almost sent my resume flying across the room-a suitably dramatic gesture in this rather unconventional interview, I thought. Eunice said she would arrange a meeting with Jane.
A week later I met Jane. Even with Eunice�s warnings I wasn�t quite ready for what I saw in front of me. You could tell a mile off that Jane was John. And if you couldn�t be sure she was a trannie then the blonde wig, bright purple dress and long gold, dangley earings would help convince you. And if you still weren�t sure then the voice was a dead give-away. There was no question the �she� sounded like a �he.� Jane was a cock in a frock. In fact, she reminded me of the character out of the awful 50s film, Glen or Glenda. In that movie Wood played a transvestite. Dressed up in a frock, high heels and wig, Wood walks the streets. With his broad shoulders, big hands and masculine facial features, there is no doubt that Glenda is Glen. In the case of my soon-to-be-boss, there was no doubt that Jane was John. Embarrasingly, I was looking at an Ed Wood double.
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