I Am Not a Secretary (not that there’s anything wrong with that)

Yesterday, as I walked in the building to work, I flashed my security badge at the turnstile and was walking toward our front door when the security guard say me and said, “It’s your turn today!”

Thinking this sounded vaguely threatening, I asked, “My turn?”

“Yeah,” he said. “When a visitor comes in for your office, and they don’t know who to ask for, I call someone different each day. That way I spread it out among you girls in the secretarial pool in there.” He nodded toward our office doors.

OK.

Deep breath.

OK.

Here’s the thing. Our security guard is what one might call a “good old boy.” He’s older, he’s a bachelor (don’t ask how I know this) and he used to be a prison guard (don’t ask me how I know that, either). I assume that in his mind, the fact that there are several women working in our office, doing office-y type things means that we’re all secretaries, because that’s all he can imagine we’d be hired to do in an office.

Which we’re not. At all.

We’re account executives and buyers and a host of other titles. And not to bash on secretaries, who these days are really executive assistants who do a hella lot more than old-school typists who transcribed dictation and kept a bottle of rye in their desk for their hat-wearing bosses (yes, I watch Mad Men). But the implication of his remark is that since we’re women, our jobs must be menial and unimportant and interruptible. He wouldn’t think of interrupting any of the men in our office.

The best part is that the main assistant in our office is a man. Go figure.

Now, I might be overreacting a bit, and I understand that. Everyone has hot button issues that make them defensive and annoyed, and mine is being judged on my competence and intelligence by the fact that my sexual organs are inside of my body instead of outside. It’s just my thing. I’ve been this way my whole life, and my dear friend Ms. Sphincter can back me up on that – we were debating equal rights between the sexes back when we were fifth-graders. I don’t even consider myself a true feminist, more like a “humanist.” Can’t we all just get along, and acknowledge each other’s strengths, no matter if we have boobs or not?

But I do know when to pick my battles. Like yesterday, I just nodded. I also might have shot a dirty look, because while we had some visitors yesterday that needed someone to greet them at the security desk, my phone didn’t ring.