After a day when I was once again faced with the painfully obvious and tiresome male centered workplace…I got a message.

Let me set the scene for you. You may be in a similar situation or perhaps you have seen one on television or in a movie from the 1980s with a top 40 multi-genre musical soundtrack with a balladry dance hit by someone the likes of Kenny Logins. Always a good beat but at times hard to dance to, especially when your wrist was covered with stacked bangle bracelets from wrist to elbow. But I digress, although in this decade, far from the misogynist 80s, I’d hoped that the male-centered work place was rare; however, the sad, sad truth is that they are more common than they are not. See, if you can imagine one of these magical work environments, maybe you already have your golden key to one. The kind of place I am thinking of is where your hard work leads you to a dead-end of unwritten, unspoken policies. These unspoken, secret handshake clubs with elusive rules are kept in the highest tower under guard. But the scrolls are there, and they include an all important guideline such as gender alone leads to promotion, even if an individual has repeatedly proven he is inept or incompetent in front of a jury of his peers. Where the wolves run in packs and mark their territory in the usual manner, pissing and moaning, and the only requirement to get in to the club is a penis, yes, a penis. Balls are certainly not a requirement. And it was on one of these perfectly obvious male-centered workplace days that it seemed that it was business as usual. I thought I was just doing my job, representing the best interest of the staff and division, offering in my opinion, a well thought out, carefully planned, equitable solution to an important issue, when once again I was punched in the face metaphorically by the alpha wolf reminding me that I, the little lady, just needed to smile, agree, stay busy and keep quiet – it was on this day when I again was reminded that I certainly would never be allowed to be a wolf and would always be considered a bitch.

And on this very day wearing the branding of bitch because I dared to be a wolf, the great media messengers delivered me a present, an affirmation that the fight I was fighting was not just my own. I received a message that should be seen by all bitches, everywhere. This message came in a full-page advertisement on the back of the Market Place section of The Wall Street Journal. Yes, me a bitch reads the WSJ. And this ad was pure marketing and advertising genius for my gender…for our time.

“The boys club keeps me down FIGHTING.” Read today. Rewrite your tomorrow.

WSJ—you have Moxxy²!
Wall Street Journal Online

Please visit the forum to discuss this article.

COPYRIGHT 2005 MOXXY2, LLC