Guacamole & Victoria's Secret

Today I was typing away I was typing away at some financial document or another, while my boss was talking to himself, about some girl the guys had met that day; I tuned him out, until he said, ".....[so-and-so coworker] knows how to work the system, because she dresses just enough like a, well, a whatever, and she displays just enough of that tramp stamp to make everyone think that they have a chance of taking advantage of her...."

"You're saying that she uses her body to make people give her free stuff?"

This is one discussion that I hate. I can never quite resolve myself with it.

"Oh, come ON!" Boss said, "You always act like that surprises you."

"It doesn't surprise me," I said, "It just seems wrong; it seems sad for guys, and sad for her. And sad for good girls. I guess it's probably saddest for good girls, when we always see that so often goodness isn't rewarded."

He launched into a big speech, about me and other good girls. He said that the guys at work that day were just talking about my outfit:  how they had searched for a word for it and had finally come up with "elegant," how they thought it was odd that when I dressed nicely it made them notice me in the opposite way that they would notice that other girl, and he reported moreover that one of the less-smooth guys at my work had declared that, "When Jane dresses like that, she's so classy that we don't want to get into her pants." That is a very crude statement, and I am sorry that I repeated it here, but it is what he said.

I said: "Well, being classy and elegant never got anybody free chips at Chilis."

"THAT AGAIN?" Boss asked me, "Why is it always back to that one screwed-up homeschool girl who you can't stop tormenting from one stupid Facebook post? Why is it always back to her?"

 

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My token lifelong guy friend has several friends whom I can't stand, and I try to always speak kindly about them in his presence, because they are his friends, and because he believes that I dislike all people. When I dislike anyone, I am reluctant to tell him. It makes no sense: just because I dislike a few of his friends does not mean I dislike humanity, and does not mean that I should be afraid to tell him about these things. But that is neither here nor there. One of his friends whom I have always disliked is a brunette who is obsessed with Victoria's Secret sweatshirts and sweat-pants with words plastered on their rear-sections, Tim Tebow, and Ulta. She is vain, reasonably pretty, and thin. I never really disliked her for being pretty, because her younger sister was the equivalent of the Homeschool Barbie, and married before she did; and because there is an unconfirmed rumor that once, a desperately romantic acquaintance either did not recognize, or else declined, a first date with her. If the romantically-effervescent friend like he was turns you down, you know that it is a very sad state of affairs, and therefore I have never disliked her, but have only felt a little sorry for her, year after year, as she continues to be in love with Tim Tebow (she literally has a Facebook fan-club page) and to display her lingerie choices on the outside. (I should note that I have no problems with Victoria's Secret, and indeed I feel pretty and confident when I wear nice things, but what I wear and what I don't will be the business of a maximum of two people in my life: myself now, and my spouse later. Being a public tease is hardly a virtue.) She is not as bad as I am portraying her: she loves Jesus, sings beautifully, and supports her parents even in older life (she's closeish to 30 now?).

That's why it's complicated to like her. And that's why I was very disappointed, shocked maybe, when she posted a Facebook post a year or two ago that has never been more than a few heartbeats away from getting dredged up again. She posted that she hated getting female waiters at restaurants because then she never got free stuff, and mentioned that her waiter at Chilis that night had been a female and that therefore there had been no free chips. This was accompanied by a pitiful sadface emoticon, and everybody from her father to her hangers-on commented with similar sad sentiments and wishes for better luck next time. The status was appalling, for several reasons. First, how would you feel if you were reading that status as a girl who had been in the presence of her fair share of male waiters her whole life, and had never been comp'ed free chips? I am in that category, you know: I am a good tipper, I am a sweet person, I make excellent eye contact as of this year, and I am a very sweet lady, but have I ever been comp'ed free chips & guacamole at Chilis because I'm a girl? Noooo, of course not. The arrogance and cluelessness of poor Jane is initially astounding, because does she not understand that her poor fangirls have never had such a similar experience and that, even if they have, it is not the routine?  Also, the status made me angry because it throws poor men under the bus; is Jane so pretty and airheaded that she imagines that Chilis designates an endless supply of free chips + guac to waiters, so that they may pass them out at will to girls? Her lack of grasp on the simple logistics of the matter makes me think that her expectation of "male waiter = free stuff" must have in some way affected her actual behavior at restaurants. What types of things has she done to pressure guys at Chilis into either lying about her order, or else in spending their tip for her table on buying food for her to munch on while she waits? If she is willing to post a Facebook status like that in front of her bajillion friends, her dad, God, and everybody, do you suppose that she has ever said anything similar at a restaurant? Don't you think she has batted her eyelashes and said, "Oooooooh, you're a cute waiter! Yay! Now we get free chips!"

Of course, the biggest problem is that now every time I go to Chilis, or every time I see a pretty girl get something free when I know she expected it and got it, I end up feeling a little less pretty. While Jane has this supposed ministry to young girls, encouraging them to be lovely and gorgeous in their own way, she slaps them in the face with her own experiences, and renders them not good enough. I have often considered writing to her to talk to her about this; and indeed I had a whole letter planned in my head, which has slowly been revised on five-mile runs over the last year, until it is a dazzling piece of pithy rebuke. I won't send it, because what, really, am I trying to change? A pretty girl who accidentally let it slip that she gets everything she wants based on her looks? I cannot change that. And ultimately, I have no desire to, because although I do not understand beauty, I am glad that there is beauty in the world.

 

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We heard guys in the hallway, talking; I didn't mean to over-hear them, but I did: ".....There's no way! Jane’s too classy to wear something slutty to the gym."

"SEE?" Boss said, "I'm right. Who cares about free chips when you have control of people's minds?"

I care. I care, because every time a girl acts a little edgily to get free chips, it gives good girls less motivation to be good, and more motivation to do what works. Boss was right, but not about that: he was right that it is always back; back to that one home-schooled girl whom I cannot stop tormenting, and whom I cannot allow to stop tormenting me. Isn't that sad?

 

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Of course, what I did not say at work is: when you make everything raw and objective, isn’t the point of being a girl, ultimately, and crudely, that what makes you a girl is the fact that guys want to get in your pants?