Tag: not nice

Sorry, That’s Not My Problem–Religious Edition

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

Earlier this month I had a patron complain that we held a Meet the Candidates event for the mayoral candidates on Ash Wednesday, and with all due respect (and the respect due him was none because he opted to be a jackass in his complaint), that’s not my problem. Your religious observances are none of my concern.

Your religion is not my problem.

I feel like of all of the public-related things that are not my problem, this is the hardest one for people to fathom. Let me assure you that I respect the existence of your religion, I respect your right to your religion, I respect the requirements, restrictions, and obligations placed upon you by your religion. HOWEVER. Those requirements, restrictions, and obligations are not my problem. They do not apply to me. I am not of your religion.

For example, Judaism, Islam, and some Christian denominations prohibit the eating of pork. I respect that. I would never insist or trick those people into eating pork, and if I were feeding them, I would be mindful that whatever meal I was serving was either pork-free or had pork-free options. However, I’m still gonna eat me some pig. That restriction doesn’t apply to me. I do not belong to any of these faiths.

Like my complainer above. Ash Wednesday is his responsibility, not mine, and not the library’s.

I think it’s the Christians that tend to struggle with this concept the most. Capitalism co-opted a couple of their holidays (Christmas and Easter) to make some bank and now they have it in their heads that their religion should be exclusively catered to. Being the most popular religion in the US doesn’t help their egos, either. If anything, it only encourages them to scream persecution if they don’t get their way.

I’m not persecuting them. I’m not discriminating against them. I’m just not one of them. Their religion is not my problem.

But it seems to be the Christians that work the hardest to make their religion my problem. The “this is a Christian nation” crowd. The “bring back prayer in schools” crowd. The “my religion is the only religion and my god is the only god” crowd. They are fascinating in their disrespect as they swing Bible verses like cudgels to defend their own abhorrent behavior while claiming to love everyone in the name of Jesus. The expect everyone to honor their religion while dismissing and denigrating anyone else’s -or their lack thereof.

It’s just happenstance that Christianity became a major religion. In another timeline, they’d all be beating their Quarans instead of their Bibles, quoting the Islamic prophets instead of the Christian ones. “No, we wouldn’t!” Oh, but, you would. For those people, religion isn’t about faith or spirituality; it’s about power. It’s about their ability to control other people.

That’s the problem we have now. People using their God as justification for control. “The Bible says…” The Bible says a lot of things. The Bible says a lot of contradictory things. The Bible says a lot of things that they ignore for their own convenience (helping the poor, plucking your eyes out, do unto others, false idols, etc.). Ultimately, the Bible says a lot of things that ain’t got shit to do with me because I’m not a Christian. That’s not my handbook.

Your religion isn’t my problem.

Stop trying to make it one.

Schrodinger’s Fatphobe: Fashion Edition

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

“I’m all for body positivity, but…”

“I think people should wear what they want, but…”

I’ve heard or read these sorts of statements frequently, particularly in the warmer months of the year (gee, I wonder why), and let me tell you, the “but” is where folks show their ass. That “but” is guaranteed to be followed by some hateful, judgy shit that stinks up the entire statement. This Grade F manure isn’t restricted to just fat women, or fat folks. That “but” can be applied to folks of a certain age, gender presentation, sexuality, or color, too. But for the purpose of this post, I’m going to focus on my fat femme presenters because I am a fat femme presenter.

Folks really tend to feel some kind of way about the fashion of fat women. They’ve got a real hang-up when it comes to the way they adorn themselves. They’re all about body positivity, you know, think everyone should wear what they want, but if you’re fat, well, you shouldn’t wear that.

In my experience, “that” can be shorts, crop tops, tank tops, two-piece bathing suits, skirts, dresses that show any leg, arm, or cleavage, sandals, spandex, lycra, anything deemed too tight, anything that shows rolls, anything that shows too much skin.

Because they’re body positive and they believe everyone should wear what they want, but they don’t want to see you wear what you want. Could you please be comfortable and stylish and fat elsewhere? Thanks.

They say it with such authority, too! Like because my cellulite offends their delicate sensibilities, I shouldn’t wear shorts. Well, Sandra, it’s 90 degrees and the humidity has it feeling like 100. I’m afraid you’re going to have to endure my bat wings and fat rolls along with the heat wave.

“If you weigh over X amount, you shouldn’t wear…”

First of all, no two people wear their weight alike. 220 pounds on me looks a lot different than it does on my sister. (No, I don’t currently weigh 220 pounds and I have no idea what my sister weighs. I just remember that at one point in time, the two of us both weighed about 220 and no one would have guessed we weighed the same because of how we carried the weight.) Second of all, there aren’t weight limits on clothes. Nowhere on the tag does it say that I can’t wear yoga pants or a crop top because I exceed the maximum weight limit. The clothes are in my size, I’m going to wear them. That’s how clothing works.

And before someone trips over themselves to point out the people who wear clothes they think are too small, well, that’s the size they want to wear. I suggest you make peace with that for the sake of your blood pressure.

I’m not saying that I don’t judge people’s fashion choices. I admit to being a judgy person. I think I could place respectably in the Judgmental Olympics. However, I’m less likely to be too het up on judging the superficial. I may see somebody wearing something that I find questionable, and I may think to myself, “That is certainly a choice”, and I may question the motives behind the style choice, but as long as they’re comfortable, happy, and feeling good, rock on then. I don’t feel the need to blast my judgy opinion about some stranger’s garb on social media. I definitely don’t feel the need to say it to their face. Remember what I said about other people’s opinions not being my problem? Same goes for me. My opinions are not other people’s problem, either.

Now, if I know the person, if we’re friends or family, if I love them and we have the kind of relationship that allows me to voice my opinions, I may say, “Are you good with your cheeks hanging out of your shorts like that? It seems like an invitation to an awkward sunburn.” And if they’re like, “Yeah, I feel good. I look good. I want to wear these shorts,” then, baby, I will put the sunblock on their booty dimples myself. Because I am body positive. I’m positive you can dress your body the way you want (within legal limits, of course; the only cops we want involved in fashion belong to the Village People), even if it’s not what I would choose, and especially if it’s not what society would have you do.

No buts about it.

Sorry, That’s Not My Problem–Other People’s Opinions Edition

~ Kiki Writes ~ 1 Comment

Let’s talk about other people’s opinions.

Everybody has an opinion on something. The kids today, what that lady is wearing, the blathering of an ex-reality star, that guy’s hair, that other guy’s podcast, the casting choices in period shows on streaming services, the state of the neighbor’s yard, the money the other neighbor spent on a new truck, what that celebrity wore to that premier, and that royal marriage. Petty ass opinions on petty ass shit.

These opinions are not my problem.

They are not my problem because they are about nouns that do not affect me. Most of the time, they are about nouns that I don’t even have my own opinion on, or if I do have an opinion, it’s not worth the effort to share it because I care about that noun so little.

This could be a byproduct of working in customer service. Working with the public, you find yourself subjected to many unsolicited opinions on a wide variety of subjects. Not only are these opinions unsolicited, they’re frequently unrelated to the customer service task at hand. There you are, minding your business, helping a customer/patron, and the next thing you know they’re telling you all of their thoughts and feelings about Prince Harry. With all due respect Sir/Madam/As The Case Maybe, that you take umbridge with his royal behavior is not my problem. I have no idea why you’d think it would be or why you’re even telling me this. This hourly wage will only get you so much. And no worries, I will not get you started on his wife.

But I find myself this callous in my personal life as well. While I enjoy having conversations with friends and family and acquaintances, I’ve found that there are times that their opinions are not my problem. You think that woman is too old to be wearing that? I think that I don’t have the energy to concern myself with something that doesn’t affect me. Where do you get your vim and verve? Let’s talk about that instead. Maybe I’m no longer in the mood to rip strangers apart for insignificant, superficial things that do not impact my existence in the least. Maybe I’d rather roast the local politician’s insistence that libraries are indoctrinating children instead. Seems more productive.

In my advancing age, this has begun to encompass other people’s opinions about myself as well. I’ve always said you shouldn’t care what other people think, but I’d be a liar to say that I haven’t spent most of my existence vacillating between not caring and caring too much. But more often, I find those opinions that other folks might have of me falling into the “not my problem” category. Don’t like what I’m wearing? Avert your eyes. Don’t like how I live my life? Bankroll it and I’ll consider your feelings. Maybe.

I realize that this comes across as somewhat inconsiderate and misanthropic, but I’m not saying that I’m disregarding anyone’s opinions. I’m not saying that they’re wrong.

They’re not just my problem.

I Am an Intimidation Tactic

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

I am the library witch.

I don’t know know when it happened, but sometime in the last almost five years of employment I became the library clerk to be feared.

People whisper not to cross me or I’ll hex them. I’m talked about like a punishment, a threat. “This is Christin. She’s our cudgel.” I am the threat of blunt force trauma in snazzy pants and funky tights and cute dresses. We joke about the ghosts of librarians past, but I’m the one that actually haunts the library. I skulk through the stacks, looking for children to scare and patrons to frighten. Coworkers to bully.

I am more feared than an ’80s slasher villain no matter their body count and how many times they come back from the dead.

I am a curse.

And I have no idea what to make of it. Because I’ve been this way for a long time. I can’t say forever because I wasn’t like this when I was a kid. I was shy and sensitive and incredibly weird. I admit that I’ve always been an angry little thing and prone to fighting and that did give me a little bit of a reputation. Turned out to stick with me even though the only person I fought in high school was my sister, who also had a bit of a reputation as someone not to cross. One of our friends whom we’d known since childhood once said that everyone wanted to be our friend because nobody wanted to be on our bad side.

Okay, maybe I have always been this way. It just had to mature along with me, refine itself into this raven that sits on my shoulder, alerting everyone to my potential.

I seem to haunt every place I go. If there’s a group dynamic, I unintentionally establish myself as the imminent danger.

I think it’s in part because I do not suffer fools. I come from a family of non-fool sufferers, which was rough when I was young and a fool because I was not suffered. Now I’m the one who is not doing any suffering. I do not have time for ignorant nonsense. Has customer service exacerbated this aspect of my personality? Absolutely. There’s a prevalence of fools in this line of work and I will not suffer a single one. That makes an impression. Even when I’m not trying to give that impression, it’s so infused in my aura that I still make that impression. More than once I’ve been told that when people first meet me they’re intimidated. While I appreciate that power, it’s not the default the vibe I’m going for.

Most people want to be liked. Life is easier when you’re liked. I don’t think about being liked. I tend to assume that I’m not liked. I’m tolerated. It’s better to be on my good side than my bad. “Don’t make Christin angry. You wouldn’t like her when she’s angry.” And you wouldn’t. I’m less than fun when I’m angry at you (I am hilarious, though, if I’m ranting about something that has nothing to do with you). So, when I find out that people actually like me, it confuses me. Surely, you jest. Did you miss the memo? The vibes? The aura? The warnings?

Or did you figure that befriending the monster would keep you safe? And once you did, you realized that she really isn’t that bad.

As long as you stay on my good side.

This Is Where I Keep My Crazy

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

I realized the other night that I’ve been keeping a journal for over twenty years.

I’ve probably talked about my journaling before, but I’m prone to repeat myself more often now that my brain is 95% song lyrics and movie quotes. So, I’m just going to talk about it again.

I remember attempting diaries as a kid, but never stuck with it. Probably because I was nine and didn’t have much of a life to write about and even though I was a writer, I thought diaries were strictly for real life escapades. As far as I was concerned, I was not doing any escapades worth writing about back then.

About six months after my oldest niece was born, I was gifted a journal. She’s twenty-two now. Anyway, it took me a couple of weeks to work up the courage to write my first entry. Once that seal was broken, though, I found it easier to write down my thoughts. But it would be years before I made it a daily habit.

Despite what my nine year old self thought, I’m still not using my journals strictly for my real life escapades, though the few escapades I do manage to have typically rate a mention.

My journals are where I keep my crazy.

My mind is a hellscape. It frequently gets too full. That one time I saw a therapist for three appointments before she got sick and I never rescheduled, she said that part of my problem is that I hold things in to the point that they overflow, and that retention was contributing heavily to the toxic state of my mind. So, I started putting the things that I couldn’t or didn’t want to talk about out loud into the pages of my journals. It helped. It got it out of my head and onto the page where I could see it and examine it from a safe distance. Poking about the words spewed from my brain has helped me a lot when it comes to figuring out how my defective grey matter works.

My roommate, who once had her privacy invaded thanks to a journal-reading incident, asked me how I can just leave my journal on my bedside table without worrying about someone reading it.

Simple.

If you read my journal, you get what you deserve.

People underestimate the shit that goes on in my head. I’m not just writing about annoying coworkers and petty grievances and people I find dreamy (though I do mention that sometimes). I’m not just jotting down my goals and to do lists and my dreams (though I do that, too).

This is where I keep my crazy. My rage. My self-harm thoughts. My go-to-jail thoughts. My delusions and illusions. My paranoia. My anxiety. My depression. My whacked out, what the fuck thoughts that would make even the strongest whimper and cringe. This shit is not for the faint of heart. It’s not even for the sure of heart.

If someone decides to go sneaking a peek at those pages, they’re going to end up scarred for life. They’re certainly never going to look at me the same way ever again. And it would be all their own fault.

I have every intention of destroying my journals before I die. Or leaving instructions with someone I trust to have them destroy them for me. There’s no goldmine in those pages, nothing publishable, nothing salvageable, nothing memorable. Nothing that needs to be remembered.

They’re just bits of my mind, anyway.

They should go with me to the grave.

The Golden Rule

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

I talked about the Golden Rule when I did a Five Minutes on it for Patreon. But since Five Minutes is no more (though $5 patrons can still listen to it if they want to), I thought I’d bring it to the blog.

I’m not talking about the Golden Rule that you’re probably thinking of- “Do unto others as you would have done to you”. It’s a perfectly fine rule and a good one to use to guide your own behavior. However, it doesn’t take into account the assholes who expect you to live by that rule while they don’t. They want you to do unto them what they won’t do unto you.

That’s why I prefer a different Golden Rule- “Don’t start no shit, won’t be no shit.”

This Golden Rule is a fabulous guide to not only your own behavior, but also the behavior of others. You see, if someone chooses to start shit, then that’s their shit and their responsibility. For example, when the Supreme Court chose to overturn Roe-vs-Wade they then found themselves being protested against at their own homes. Naturally, they cried about this to the media. But my be-robed fellows, this is what happens when you start shit. You started shit, now there is shit, enjoy your shit.

This could also apply to the people who are routinely “canceled” for saying openly bigoted and/or stupid shit on public platforms. Listen, Loudmouth Lucy and Fuck Your Feelings Fred, your mentions wouldn’t be filling up like a cistern in a shit deluge if you maybe used the backspace key instead of megaphoning your mush-brained hate to the entire interwebs. You started shit, now there is shit, enjoy your shit.

The Golden Rule is closely related to the consequences of one’s own actions. We don’t operate in a vacuum. Everything we do has consequences because everything we do affects other human beings. If you prefer not to have negative consequences, then don’t have negative actions. That’s just physics.

Is it possible to start good shit? Absolutely. This is called breaking the Golden Rule with intention. For example, making an unprompted, generalized post on Facebook about how homophobia is for squares or racism actually exists is no doubt going to start shit among the bigoted aunts and uncles who are going to take a break from posting their “America First” memes to fill their diapers in the comments of that post. It’s an expected, anticipated response to being so controversial. You started shit, now there is shit, enjoy your shit.

But that’s the thing about breaking the Golden Rule and starting shit. Many of the people who break the Golden Rule have no intention of starting shit. They’re not anticipating the shit and they certainly don’t think they deserve the shit. But they do. When you break the Golden Rule -intentionally or not- you get the shit you deserve.

I live by the Golden Rule. If someone starts shit in my general direction, then I see to it that they get the shit they deserve. And if I start shit, then I accept the shit that I receive and I deal with it accordingly.

I gotta be honest, though. The world would be a lot less shitty if we all lived by the Golden Rule.

I Save My Rage for the Road

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

A remarkable thing happens when I get into my car.

It doesn’t matter what kind of day I’m having. I could be having a perfectly lovely day, in a glorious mood, everything going my way. And then I get behind the wheel and I turn into the Hulk. I am instantly filled with rage and impatience. So long as I am in that car, I am Queen Bitch. And then I get to my destination, hop out of the car, and my cheerful mood resumes.

Suffice it to say, I have some form of road rage.

Now I’m not one of those people that will purposely harass you on the road because of some perceived slight, nor am I the kind to hop out of my vehicle at a stop sign to attempt violence. But I will hex you and your bloodline past, present, and future into oblivion.

I do not know why I’m like this. Because I wasn’t always like this. I’ve done a lot of driving in my years since acquiring my license. I’ve done my time commuting for work and I used to take regular trips to the Chicago area, a two and a half/three hour drive depending on how you feel about speed limits. I’ve driven to Arkansas and Buffalo. There is a part of me that likes to drive sometimes. On one of my commutes, I found a stretch of meditation in the form of taking the back road to catch the highway. Just crank the radio, roll down the window, and go.

This didn’t mean that I wouldn’t get irritated with other drivers. Part of the reason I took the back roads was to avoid them. The best highway commutes were when the cars were few and far between. I was not above voicing vocal frustration at people acting like they learned to drive at the demolition derby. Or the people who found the speed limits too high and sought to slow down the entire flow of traffic.

I stopped those twenty-thirty minute commutes years ago. Since 2019, I’ve barely driven out of town. I pretty much only drive around town, to and from work, running errands. And it seems that with the shortened distances have come a shortened temper.

I have a short drive to get to the library. Honestly, I should walk, but I don’t want to get dressed for work any earlier than I have to. Also, I don’t want to go to work sweaty. Anyway, it is amazing how many swear words I can cram into such a short drive because everyone pisses me off. There are days, of course, in which I manage the drive without incident. But more often than not, someone doesn’t know how to work the square or someone can’t work a four way stop or someone can’t work the parking lot or someone decides to just walk out in front of my car.

Allow me to remind you that I live in a small town, not some busy metropolis, and my commute to work is all of five minutes.

The fact that my chill vacates the second the key hits the ignition bothers me more than the people I swear at while I drive (I admit that it’s a tiny-margin victory). I’m beginning to suspect that I haven’t mastered the art of calm in other areas of my life at all and instead, I’m just detouring it all to ride shotgun with me whenever I’m driving around town.

I’m carpooling with my stress.

Maybe I should get a bike.

How To Library

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

If you didn’t know, September is Library Card Sign-up Month.

This is the instructional/refresher I wish I could do for patrons because I feel like some people weren’t paying attention at all when using a library was discussed back in school and with some of the younger kids coming in, I’m wondering if that’s not one of the curriculum bits dropped due to lack of funding.

Yes. It is a bit snarky. I will not apologize for that.

Here we go. The absolute basics of How To Library:

  1. Have your library card with you if you want to check items out. You would think I wouldn’t have to say that, but it turns out the number of people who come into the library without their cards is staggering. If you lose it, let us know and we’ll replace it. If you left it at home accidentally because you switched out your purse or grabbed the wrong wallet, okay, I get that. That happens. Ways to combat forgetfulness? If your library has an app, use that. It should have your card on it. Or take a picture of your card’s barcode. We can scan that most of the time. Or we can use your ID. Don’t have your ID? What in the absolute fuck are you doing driving around then? How the hell will anyone ID your corpse when it’s found in a ditch somewhere? I do not understand you people at all.
  2. Return your items on time and undamaged. You are borrowing an item. BORROWING IT. Would you borrow something from your friend, keep it months after you agreed to give it back, and trash it in the process? If you would, I don’t want your ass in my library or as my friend. Some libraries still have fines. Mine doesn’t. That means you’re not penalized for not bringing your item back on time, but you should still endeavor to do so. If your item is going to be late, you can renew it. You might even be able to do that over the phone (we do that at our library) or online. And if something does happen to the item you’ve checked out, bring it to the circ desk and own up to it. Because we’re more likely to charge you if you ditch it in the dropbox and run away rather than showing it to us and explaining what happened to it. Think I’m lying? We’ve got a book in our collection with tired tread from a whole ass car on the title page (that person was having one hell of an interesting day). Some damage we can live with and we’ll be more likely to let you live with it too if you take responsibility.
  3. Learn your library’s shelving system. I can’t speak for every library, but when it comes to fiction, 9 times out of 10, the books are going to be shelved by author’s last name in alphabetical order. I don’t understand why this is a mystery to so many people. Non-fiction can be trickier. Some libraries still use Dewey Decimal, some don’t. Mine uses a subject based system, but guess what? The subjects are still in alphabetical order. Movies, TV shows, and music can be the same way. We organize ours by genre, but within the genres…alphabetical order. We use the alphabet a lot. It helps with finding things. Speaking of which…
  4. Learn how to use your library’s search. Some libraries may still have card catalogs. Mine doesn’t. Ours is now computer based. Either/or, spend some time learning how to use whatever your library uses. This includes any searching online in the comfort of your own home via whatever apps/sites your library might have. Our computer search can be done by title, author, keyword, etc. and then with a click you can find out the call number. We are happy to help you find whatever item your are looking for, but we are just as happy if you find that item yourself. Believe me. Our feelings will not be hurt if you find that book on your own.

The basic tips make my life as a library worker easier. These basic tips also make your life as a patron easier. Knowing where stuff is and how to find it makes the library more user-friendly and less intimidating. And that’s what we want! Of course, if you have any questions about anything in the library, ask a library worker. We will be happy to answer your questions because we want you to have a good library experience and that’s what the basics do -build a foundation for a good library experience.

I realize this is a bit of a snarky list (particularly the first two), but it’s these four things that haunt me the most. Honestly, the number of people who are indignant about the idea of having to have their library card with them to check items out is mind-boggling (the number of people rolling without their IDs more so). But I feel like a serious disservice is being done here by not properly educating people on the basics of librarying. I want to fix that.

So bring your damn library card and return your shit on time.

Sorry, That’s Not My Problem–Customer Service Edition

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

The other day at work, my coworker recounted an interaction she’d just had with a patron while I was away from the desk (I was on shelving duty that day and she was covering my supervisor’s lunch). She printed out a receipt for the patron -it’s low-stick paper with the due date printed on it that we can slap on the item if a patron wants it- and it got caught in the printer. It’s been doing this all summer with both receipt printers for reasons (I think it’s another disapproval sign from the ghost of Ms. Kent). It’s annoying as hell, but it takes less than 30 seconds for us to open it up and retrieve the receipt.

This happened to my coworker while she was waiting on a patron, who said, “Never mind if it’s going to take long. I’m in a hurry.” My coworker had the receipt free by the time the woman had finished her sentence, but it still bothered my coworker that the woman felt the urge to get so snippy with her about it.

When my coworker told me about the incident, I shrugged and said, “You being in a hurry is not my problem.”

My coworker was shook that I would approach the situation like that. I told her, “Your emergency is not my emergency. Your time-constraints are not my time constraints. You come in here, you’re on my time now. It takes however long it takes.”

This made an impression on my coworker because the very next day she dealt with another patron whom she was trying to help find a specific movie in what’s known as WorldCat, which covers the whole country. It can be involved. And when my coworker wasn’t finding the desired results fast enough, the woman said, “I’m in a hurry.”

My coworker later told me that she turned away from the woman, mouthed to herself “That’s not my problem”, turned back, and said, “This can take a few minutes. Would you like to come back later when you have more time?” The woman declined, my coworker finished searching for the movie (nobody has it, which baffled us both), and the woman went on her way.

She wasn’t rude, the request was completed, and the point was made.

That’s not my problem.

The thing about customer service is that customers or patrons frequently want to make their problems your problems. And I do not accept anyone else’s problems. I have enough of my own that I’m in no mood to deal with. I’m definitely not in the mood to deal with yours.

Telling me that you’re in a hurry does not make me go faster. The task takes as long as it takes and it’s eyebrow raising at how many people will tell me they’re in a hurry like that will somehow make searching for a book magically go quicker. It doesn’t. I’m looking for a title that might be wrong by an author you don’t remember. Settle in. This is going to take a beat. If you’re in a rush, come back later. No one’s life depends on you finding this book right stat now.

Likewise, I’m sorry you waited until the last minute to send this fax, but it’s not my fault that they turned their fax machine off and it’s not my problem that whatever you’re sending is going to be late. Also, I don’t care if our dollar per page fee is too high. Pay it or learn to work email. Regardless, it’s none of my concern.

I’m not saying that people aren’t entitled to adequate customer service; of course they are. But I think that many people do not (or don’t want to) understand that the people behind the counter can only do so much. We’re only responsible for so much. If you want better customer service, then be a better customer.

And if that pisses you off, well…

That’s not my problem.

There’s a Weight Limit on That

~ Kiki Writes ~ 2 Comments

“I love it when girls wear white shorts.” Not if those shorts show off some cellulite. Then the best come on you can muster is a cow noise as you walk behind her.

“I love it when a girl eats.” Not if she’s got some meat on her bones and some rolls in her bakery. Then you have nothing but concern for her health that you spit out as snide comments.

“I love a girl in yoga pants.” Not if that pants size is in the double digits. Then she just looks like a slob because we all know she doesn’t actually do yoga, am I right?

When I hear comments like these which remark on a woman’s appearance (which are almost always made by a man), I automatically add the asterisk to it. Because there’s a weight limit on that comment, a footnote on it about the exceptions.

Because there are always exceptions.

Now of course these are generalized comments so they’re not necessarily supposed to include everyone. Most people are just speaking from their own attractions and I suppose there’s no harm in that. But when you take a closer look at the exclusions that apply to those statements, you start to see a pattern.

You see the weight limit.

Even people who claim to be body positive will put that kind of asterisk on their declarations.

“People can wear whatever they want.” “But are you sure you really want to wear that?”

“People can eat whatever they want.” “But are you sure you really want to eat that? All of it?”

These asterisks are so internalized that we don’t even notice them. It’s not something anyone has to say out loud. It’s just automatically understood that these statements don’t apply to those of us over the max weight. And, yes, we even apply those asterisks to ourselves.

These terms and conditions are established by society and just by being born into it, we click accept. Not that we would probably read them anyway. But they are pretty insidious. We agree to look a certain way and be a certain way. And when we violate those terms, we get removed from the privileges the agreement provides us. No seconds for us. Not without further consequences.

Sometimes I feel the urge to call out these comments. To point out the weight limit and watch the scramble to defend or justify or dismiss it. “You’re too sensitive!” Do you not see all of the asterisks spilling out of your mouth? They’re covering the floor like jacks. Have you ever stepped on a jack?! You’d be feeling sensitive, too. Downright sore, even. That shit is harmful.

People don’t like to be called to the carpet over things like that, the internalized bits of societal rhetoric that they blindly adhere too without questioning. They don’t like to think about the harm that they’ve been inflicting on others -or on themselves. They don’t like to take responsibility for a wrong they didn’t realize they were committing.

And that’s why their scales tip when I wear the white shorts.

Max weight indeed.