Feminism is the radical notion that women are people.

Lemme get fired up for a minute here.

Y’ALL.  If she pays taxes, owns a car, owns a home, is college-educated, has a child, has a husband, has a job, and can kick your ass, SHE IS NOT A GIRL.  SHE IS A WOMAN.

One more time for the people in the cheap seats:  WOMAN.  NOT A GIRL.

Feminism is the radical notion that women are people.

I tend bar a whopping two nights a week.  I contribute to my family’s income, I get to talk to very well-established adults, and I spend a ton of time with my kiddo.  Decent gig.  Not my favorite, but I’d be stupid to leave.  Wanna know the dumbest part?  When you serve people of privilege, a lot of them have some awful personality traits heavily associated with gobs of money.  I’m not saying all of them, so put away the damn pitchforks.  I’m saying I see a denser population of “I CAN’T HANDLE THIS GUY ANYMORE” while I’m at work, than when I’ve tended bar to people of lower income.  Comes on a case by case basis, ya know?

So, on Wednesdays I have a gangster shift nearly every week.  Love it.  Love my regulars, love my co-worker.  Same lovely lady every Wednesday – we’ll call her The Fish.  No sex jokes, guys.  The Fish and I are like-minded individuals with adorable precious boys the same age.  We get salty about the same things and have similar world views.

We have this one table every Wednesday… crap, I gotta name them something different.  Um… well I’ll just call them table 205.  Ok, so every Wednesday we get the same 2 guys at table 205: two dudes whom have been friends forever, have a decent chunk of change, and like to catch up and drink vodka once a week.  We like them.  They tip well, low maintenance guests, chat us up, polite.  One thing: they’re all about male privilege.  Openly.  One of the gentlemen of table 205 was recently gifted by the universe with a beautiful baby granddaughter.  She’s perfect; I’ve seen the pictures.  And you know what he tells me?  I’m lucky that I have a boy.  His granddaughter is cool and all, but he really wanted a boy.  That girls are awful.  That boys are useful and purposeful and something to be proud of, but girls just kind of take up space in your house and create a lot of problems.

If you want to someone to agree with you that the female gender can get bent, two feminists who handle your food is not a good place to start.

I remind him real quick that I’m actually a female, and that telling me that I’m useless isn’t a good way to get good service every single Wednesday until I crap on his windshield out of rage.

“Oh, not you, you girls are great.”

“Hey, quick question, take it or leave it – If I called you a boy, would you appreciate it?”

“Oh no,” he smirks, “I’m not a boy!  I’m a man.”

YO, DUDE, WHAT IS THE DIFFERENCE?!  Tell me, SOMEONE OUT THERE TELL ME, because I’m in the dark here.  If this 50-something guy is a man, but my 30-something co-worker and myself are girls (I’m almost 30)… at what point do I get to become a woman?  What am I doing that indicates I’m a child?  Let’s just say he’s doing it because he’s old enough to be my father, and sees me at an age relative to his daughter.  Let’s go with that for a minute.  I work with dudes right around my age – even went to college with one of them.  Same major, had class together every day of the week for the last two years of our program.  This guy makes approximately 25% of what I earn on an hourly basis, lives at home with his parents whom pay his bills, no plans for a wife or children anytime soon – all markers that our society views as less mature.  So I asked Mr. Table 205 – Would you call [co-worker] a boy?

“No, that’s disrespectful.”

I really don’t know what more to say to convey my point here.  I need a drink.