STILL. REALLY.

I am upset.

Today I was misgendered at a café I go to frequently, by a member of staff who serves me probably around half to a third of the times I’m there. It put me in a stroppy mood (or, as my counsellor would probably want me to say, it made me angry) for my entire walk home. I wasn’t going to write about it here, because there are far worse things in the world, and really, do you need to hear a rather privileged white guy whining about a word someone used to address him when he went to pay for a delicious meal he’d just eaten? No.

But it’s important to me. I thought about only sending this to a closed e-list, or putting it on a filter in my LJ, or posting it to a members-only community. But I’m going to put it here, open, public, because I’m starting to do most of my bitching about small trans-related annoyances in private groups. And that means that anyone (any non-trans person?) reading only this blog will not realise how often these things occur, and how upsetting they can be. It concerns me, because it’s often these little bits of frustration that affect me more personally, that hammer home the fact that in many ways I am a freak, an oddity, an outsider, and I don’t have the privileges that many non-gender-variant people do. It’s these little things that still happen almost every day and take up energy I would rather spend on other things (that I try to spend on other things). It’s the little things, like being misgendered at a café, or having a child ask their guardians if I’m a girl or a boy (and more specifically, the dirty/confused/fearful looks I get from said guardians), or getting a pay cheque from the university in the post addressed to my old name (even though I’ve been through this so many fucking times you think they’d have changed it by now), or having an old acquaintance use my old name in front of a new acquaintance (even though they should know better). It’s frustrating and upsetting, and I am still not used to it.

(But I shouldn’t have to get used to it, should I?)

Anyway, this café staff member has served me on average once every week or two for the last several months at least, and they have never obviously misgendered me. Staff at this place tend to use non-gender specific forms of address: ‘folks’, ‘people’, ‘lovely people’, or simply ‘you’. They often say ‘guys’ (which usually passes for gender-neutral, though I know some women understandably don’t like it), but not as much as you might expect, and this particular person calls men and women ‘mate’ occasionally (which, hm, the word ‘mate’ in Australia has kind of unpleasant undercurrents to me, but I’m willing to let it slide). The great thing about gender neutral forms of address, if I’m being completely selfish, is that it allows me to get on with my life without people constantly reminding me that they see me as a girl. Even when people call me ‘sir’ and I get a bit of a thrill (less so the more it happens), it still reminds me that I’m not always seen as a man, and thus it often carries an anxiety with it: there’s always a trace of the ‘other’ or ‘opposite’ inherent in gender-specific forms of address. Gender neutral words make me comfortable, gender specific words make me angry (if they’re female/feminine) or happy-but-anxious (if they’re male/masculine).

So, yes. I’ve been fairly comfortable at this café and with the staff members, and their use of gender neutral forms of address has let me feel like I am moving through the space as the person I am and want to be seen as. When my friend and I were called ‘Ladies’ this morning (“That will be thirty-four dollars, ladies”), this is what happened:

Rushing noise in ears. My automatic reply, “Well, I’m not a lady, but here’s my card.” The apology: “Sorry, ladies and [mumblemumble/guys/gentlemen].” My thoughts: What the fuck, why did you call me a lady, maybe I shouldn’t have worn this neckerchief, hang on, what, you think I’m a girl, well that’s fucking brilliant isn’t it, so that means every single time I’ve come here you’ve been reading me as female, great, I’m a girl, I’m a girl, you all see me as a girl, and everyone who knows I’m trans sees me as a girl and is just humouring me, and I hate this, I hate it, I hate my stupid body and my stupid face, and fucking hell, can’t you all see I’m a fucking guy, FUCK YOU! I HATE MYSELF. Staff member: “So, is that on cheque, savings or credit?” Me: “Ah, credit, thanks.”

Now, I almost immediately took a deep breath and said to myself, “It’s not the end of the world, you know that people see you as a guy all the time, don’t worry about it,” and on the way home I thought myself through what had happened and let myself be upset (haha, my own internal therapist). Logically, I know that not everyone sees me as a girl, and I know that lots of people see me as a guy and as a trans guy. I know it’s not my fault for dressing a particular way, I know there’s not a lot I can do about being misread. But it doesn’t make it any less disconcerting when it happens, especially after all this time. If this person had misgendered me months ago, I could have put it right then, but in that moment this morning the cloth of identity and history I have woven around myself got a thread ripped right out: almost as if it was never there, but with added pain. I never ‘passed’. They never saw me as a guy. For those people who have never experienced this, I don't know if you can have any idea how upsetting it is.

I don’t have any pithy remark to make in conclusion to this post.

I am (still) (really) upset.