I must have looked pretty good yesterday, because I noticed guys checking me out at work. It wasn’t so obvious – not like the cartoonish head-turning double takes littered throughout a movie starring Pamela Anderson’s breasts. It was more subtle -- just a split-second up-and-down body scan that some men seem to do unconsciously. Under many circumstances, I wouldn’t mind being noticed by men in that way, but at work it feels inappropriate and prompts me to second guess what I’m wearing. (What possessed me to wear a push-up bra to work?) Besides, I can’t imagine going out with a coworker. Interoffice dating seems as well thought out as pogo-sticking on a trampoline while juggling live grenades. What could possibly go wrong with that?!
Being checked out at work now in 2014 isn’t nearly as bad as it was 25 years ago. Back then it was much more blatant, particularly with one type of workplace menace: the office Boob-Gazer. Back in the dark ages of the 80s and 90s, women at work were often subjected to the long “boob gaze” by a special type of socially clueless coworker. Yes, *that* guy. Remember him, ladies? There was usually one Boob-Gazer in every department, at least in my unlucky experience working in offices back then. The worst offender would actually gaze at my chest with an unblinking laser-like stare that defied human biology (we’re programmed to regularly blink, right?!). Sometimes Boob-Gazer would even talk to my boobs, with my mouth the uncomfortable third participant in an always awkward conversation that usually took place in the most public of hallways. It always annoyed and astounded me that Boob-Gazer was either oblivious to how icky he made all the women feel, or that he just didn’t give a shit.
The Boob-Gazer wasn’t confined to one narrow demographic though. In my experience, he could be old, young, married, single, or even female. Whenever I complained about Boob-Gazer to my friends or female coworkers, I would often be advised to aggressively stare at his crotch. But that required the type of public boldness that I -- the shy, demure, delicate flower that I am -- did not possess. (Hahahaha. That made me laugh too.) Actually, a retaliatory social faux pas delivered to eliminate future social faux pas made as much logical sense to me as using the death penalty to affirm the value of human life.
I often resorted to the “file folder” strategy to deflect Boob-Gazer’s unsettling gaze. Whenever I had to interact with Boob-Gazer, I would grab a file folder and hold it in front of my chest like a shield. This sort of worked, except, out of pervy habit, Boob-Gazer would often just stare at the file folder, *imagining* what my boobs were wearing that day.
My personal fantasy was to have human resources get involved by officially making Boob-Gazer wear a large white cone of shame around his neck – like the large white rigid cones that dogs have to wear after being neutered or spayed to keep them from licking their stitches. Not only would the white cone serve the practical purpose of keeping Boob-Gazer’s eyes up off my chest and on my face, it would also serve as a social-shaming device, a dunce cap for social dunces. I loved that my idea combined useful functionality and public shaming in one fitting solution. Perhaps I missed my calling as a cranky sass-mouthy tv show judge.
Being totally flat-chested I've never had this problem! When I was young and beautiful men would try to catch my eye and tell me I looked 'interesting'! Now I am virtually free from attention from strangers. You made me wonder if I am a female 'boob gazer' though - as I don't have them I can't help feeling a little bit fascinated by them and it might show! Fortunately I don't have much social contact as I don't work. At the job centre my employment adviser wears totally inadequate support and rests her breasts on the desk.
ReplyDeleteLove the 'cone of shame'. Love the blog in fact - you're a great writer!