In January, I began a new position working in IT. I left my comfortable little cubic-cave, and my office of menopausal mother figures to join a team of six men from cultural and religious backgrounds that could not be more different from my own. As the only female in the group , I consider myself a younger, curvier, Jane Goodall living among the primates.
I was worried I wouldn’t fit in with the team, that we’d have nothing in common, or that they wouldn’t be washing their hands after visits to the rest room.
It turns out, my six multicultural computer chimps were concerned about having me on their team as well. I recently found out they were briefed by my boss to, “Be kind, inclusive, and not to say anything that can be misconstrued as sexual harassment.”
At three o’clock everyday, I was invited to join the boys for tea, and listen to them discuss cars. Every. Single. Day. I learned about shocks, struts, brakes, winter tires, summer tires, paint finishes, mileage, their dream cars, their current cars, their worst car, their wives car, their wives driving, their motorcycle, their sport bike, sports bikes versus Harley’s and it went on and on until faced with cutting my own ears off with a butter knife, I stopped going to three o’clock tea.
After a week of keeping to myself, one of the more sensitive primates of the pack invited me back to the round table, where to my surprise they were willing to discuss dating, relationships, and the differences between men and women.
It’s been 10 months, but I believe I’ve finally been accepted as one of their own. This achievement brings me to a new series of blog posts entitled Lunchtime Anthropology, where I’ll relay my humorous and sometimes enraging observations and conversations with what I’ve affectionately dubbed, “My Frans, my bestie boos, my hoes” even though they insist I stop calling them that.
Their identities will be protected, and details of our work will be avoided (I’m not looking for a law suit here), but I’ll be sharing a male perspective to this otherwise estrogen riddled Tampax ad of a blog.
Luckily, none of the boys on my team care about my blogging endeavors, so I’m safe. If I should be discovered… Well. Godspeed. It was a pleasure writing for you.