The Forgotten Minority

I want you to imagine yourself taking care of three children by yourself for a minute, which usually entails the rare skill of being able to tie a shoe, eat a bagel, hold a baby, type and talk on the phone all at once. You are the sole provider, however right now, times are tough and well? You are not providing very well. The collectors are calling and everyone is tired of Ramen noodles. You thumb through the wanted ads in the classifieds and apply to nearly every job you’re barely eligible for.
While on the phone to set up an interview, you escape into the bedroom and close the door while your two boys punch each other’s lights out and the baby wails and bangs on the door. It’s not that you’re trying to be mean. You feel bad. It’s just that you really don’t want to mess this up and hearing a bunch of screaming and fighting kids in the background might not leave the best impression.
The first interview comes; the boys are off to school and now for the baby, off to the babysitters. She reaches for you and cries. You tell her you’ll be back soon. Your heart is a yo-yo, each step you take the tension becomes stronger until you get to the car, that’s when your proverbial yo-yo (heart) springs out of your chest , rolls up the stairs and into the hands of your baby.
As you pull up to the interview, you of course pull into the only spot available, the one with a big mud pot hole right next to the driver’s side. As you emerge from the vehicle, you try to act casual about the gazelle leap you are just about to attempt over a 3ft. wide mud hole only to miss the clean edge by a good 7 inches. The cuff of your pants and heel are now impressively covered with thick mud. You try to nonchalantly wipe off as much as you can (as if that can be done), and scurry inside the building to make your grand interview entrance. Your phone is buzzing (it’s on vibrate) with frantic texts about a lost bottle and a fever. You know there is nothing you can do about that now and the show must go on (or the bills won’t get paid.)
Once back in the interviewing room, you are so nervous you are sweating; your eyes are darting, and well? You really look like you’re on crack!
“So….” She says nudging her glasses lightly downward, “You do know this shift is from 8-5, is that a problem for you?” (You know in your mind that it is, but you figure you’ll work it out …you HAVE to. You know your children don’t get on the bus till’ 8:20 and get out at 3:25, which means you’ll have to leave before they get on the bus, take the baby to a sitter and then find a sitter to pick them up at 3:25 and then YOU will pick them up at 5:30. Not easy, but what are the alternatives?)
“Oh no, that’ll be fine. No problem”, you say.
“Do you have any children?” (You hate this question…not the kids, just the question.)
“Yes.”
With head slightly back, so that you can see her nose hairs and her eyelids almost closed, she asks “How many?”
“I have 3, a 2 year old, a 9 year old and a 12 year old.” (Why did you just volunteer all that? You could’ve just said 3…or..I stopped counting after two?)
“But don’t worry, it’s not a problem. I have sitting arranged. Yep! Everything’s arranged!” (Now you are just nervously blurting things out.)
“Married?”(You idiot, why did you just ask that, don’t you know you’re not supposed to? Of course you do.)
“Um…no.” (You idiot! Why did you just say that! Don’t you know they’ll use that against you? Of course you do.)
“Hmm…” (Here comes the suspicious-sizing you up- investigator look.)
Panicking, you say “Ma’am, one thing I can tell you is that my being a single parent is definitely not an obstacle for me. I am a hard worker and dependable. I have to be, THEY depend on me.” (Oh, great! Now you sound desperate.)
“Well, dear this job is very demanding", she sneers.(It’s a receptionist job for crying out loud. Demanding? Your kids are demanding, this is a damn VACATION.) Here is comes,"Do you think you could handle that while juggling your lifestyle?” (Yes, she just said lifestyle as though it were something you chose, your “style”. You just picked it out of the closet and said “Now THAT’S my style! My LIFESTYLE.” Pfft!)
“Oh sure, I am a multi-tasker 100%!” You say gleefully. (Why are you sucking up to this snotty bitch? Oh yeah…bills.)
“Yes, well there are many applicants. We’ll give you a call.”
Back to the drawing board!
You know, it’s bad enough that we are at a disadvantage for being single mothers, even worse; we get a double whammy of discrimination with the female thing. There is something very strange about the workplace and women; it’s called “Queen Bee Syndrome”. This is real; I swear it on a stack of post it notes.
Queen Bee Syndrome is when a woman wants to be the “Queen Bee” of the workplace and is very competitive with other women and therefore actually discriminates against their own sex in order to keep their competition in check. Some women like being the only woman in the environment and therefore will only hire men, or if they do hire women, it has actually been proven that WOMEN are harder to get promotions and raises out of than MEN!
This is treason.
Who are these women? We are supposed to band together, not make it harder on our sex than it already is. Competitive, Shmetitive. When are we going to let go of the catty, snarky attitudes?
If we don’t, the conditions for our sex will never improve, not with us against each other.
Forward this to your girlfriends and let’s get a chain going. No more female to female discrimination in the workplace! No more single mother discrimination in the workplace!