At least when I was in Phoenix learning about telehandlers I was able to sneak out a couple of nights and hang out with Kyle. We had some good dinners, he showed me his apartment, and best of all, gave me a tour of his golf course. I must say, I do not feel sorry for the guy: his office is amazing.
We got out there right at sunset, which made it even more beautiful. Who knew that the desert could be so pretty? And, although I didn't get a picture of them, there were cottontail rabbits everywhere. We're talking hundreds of them; 10 of them on every green. They would scatter as we zipped around corners.
Then, I was off to Vegas this week for three days of crane classes. That's right: Me in classes, all day, learning about cranes. I sometimes wonder how I fell into this industry. And I'm not the only one. I was one of about three women there, out of a total of 150 participants. I felt like I was in one of those pictures: Which of the items in the picture doesn't belong? Erin...and 149 good ol' boys. Tough call. I was constantly getting asked, incredulously, "Are you a crane operator??" "If you don't mind me asking, why are you here?" They always meant it with the best of intentions--genuine curiosity about what would bring me to a crane conference. It was fairly amusing. They even felt the need to say "Gentlemen....and ladies" when I was the only woman in the class. And they also threw in fairly frequently how they knew a female crane operator who was better than the men. Thanks, guys.
What is not amusing to me, however, is a blonde joke in a professional setting. One day for lunch there was a taco bar, and I filled up my plate, but didn't see the "fixins" at another table. I finally realized where they were, after I was pretty much done eating, and someone goes "Well, she IS a blonde." I'm sorry, I can't even muster a smile for that. I have no problem with blonde jokes...I think they're pretty funny myself. But not in a professional setting, where I'm pretty much the only woman in the room. AND, they're called HIGHLIGHTS. I'm not even really that blonde.
But that wasn't nearly as insulting as what happened to me a couple of years ago when I had forgotten to bring my business cards with me on a trip. This buffoon of a man said, "Well, she IS blonde...I'm sure she'd forget her head if it wasn't attached." Wow. I had no words for that one.
At least most guys on this trip tried to be politically correct. Most of the instructors in the classes were from Florida, with thick southern accents. "Crane" was pronounced "crine" and one gentleman pronounced "specific," I kid you not, as "PACIFIC." As in the OCEAN. For the first few times I thought that surely I heard wrong. Oh no, he really was saying Pacific. He probably eats "pasketti" for dinner as well.
And I get paid for putting up with all of this.
1 comment:
At least you get paid. Could be worse.
My poor, Erin. A dumb blonde you are not!
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