I came out of the closet at work a little bit on Thursday: Just a crack, but it’s a start. I’d noticed that one of the other women electricians was wearing a t-shirt from the rugby club that my ex has recently joined, and so when she stopped me in the hall to say hello and formerly introduce herself, I asked her about it.
It’s funny, but I feel like people are really starting to be friendly with me now that I’ve lasted through the first two weeks: Though I haven’t the data to back it up, I get the idea that some workers simply quit within that time frame, and so no one bothers to get to know them.
Anyway, this woman and I had smiled at each other a one point or another, but never spoken until Thursday morning when she told me her name and asked mine. In response to my question about the team, she confirmed that she’s one of the players, to which I responded without a thought, telling her that my ex was her teammate. It was so easy and enjoyable: Her utter lack of surprise, my comfort with chatting about a former lover, the whole little interaction. Afterwards I felt relieved, revealing stress I hadn’t really realized I was experiencing.
Which was good, it turns out, because later that morning while doing some conduit installation in an otherwise deserted section of the building, I came across graffitti on a wall, letters 2 inches high in black marker on the concrete: [Some dude’s name] IS A HOMO. Still feeling good from the outing, and remembering how fucking exhausted I was by fighting the homophobic bullshit at trade school, all I could do was laugh.
… And I grabbed my own permanent marker, and replied underneath: SO AM I.
I thought of adding “WE’RE EVERYWHERE!”, but it hardly seemed necessary.