Tribute to Annie Lennox (and to s/he who is her only inhabitant)

I was recently told by someone who works in my building that I need to close my office door and lock it even while I am working. He explained that by leaving the office door open, “someone could walk in and shoot you.” I reminded him that in addition to the main doors of the building being locked and alarmed, several guards stationed both outside *and* inside the building serve the purpose of protecting me from being harmed. He responded by asking why I choose to put my life at risk. I answered by remarking that locking the door while I’m inside my office is a risk in and of itself – hypothetically, I could pass out or have a seizure and no one from outside of my tiny cubicle could come to my aid. I then followed by explaining: “Keeping my door open while I’m working is a friendly gesture; it’s a way to make people feel welcome. Is there anything wrong with saying ‘hello’ and ‘good morning’ to those with whom I work?” “It’s not necessary,” he said. “Well, I realize it’s not necessary, but I happen to think it’s pleasant. It’s common courtesy to say ‘good morning’ and it’s nice to feel connected to the people with whom you are sharing a space.” He didn’t seem to appreciate my reasoning nor did I entertain his “demand.”

Several days later I received a “second warning” about how I am “violating security procedures” by failing to comply with the close-and-lock-your-door-while-working policy. I asked if I could see the policy in writing. As I suspected, the rule holds true only if the building is neither (a) alarmed or (b) guarded by human beings on the building’s interior or perimeter. Our building has both of these security measures in place. Nonetheless, after receiving my “third warning” earlier today, I decided that this “security policy” (euphemism for “unfriendly workplace”) could be used to my advantage. Indeed, I could exploit it. So, I closed and locked the door, cranked up the radio -- ever-so-pleased that Annie Lennox’s “Walking On Broken Glass” was playing for the 1000th time -- and I rocked out.

After the Annie Lennox dance party and the Celine Dion lip-sync contest with Jordan, Jordanka, Yardena, Gershona, and Jennifer Lopez (my alter egos) I thought of all the crazy things I could do behind my closed and locked office door about which no one would ever know. The possibilities are endless. I also thought about how exciting it will be to say ‘hello,’ ‘good morning,’ ‘how are you,’ to my alter egos when I arrive at the office at 9am tomorrow.

A lesson to be learned: when the power seekers surrender themselves to closed-and-locked doors, build your world anew and become its only inhabitant. There are times when we must learn to be our own best friend (or perhaps invent friendships with Divas on the radio). And if that means dancing scandalously in a tiny office because no one gives a damn about salutations or common courtesies, so be it. “Safety Procedures” aren’t so inhibiting after all.

* * *

Over coffee, my friend told me about a guy she knows who has begun wearing women’s clothing.

“It’s just awful,” she said. “I really can’t believe he’s doing that.”
“Why is it so awful?” I asked.
“Because it’s just wrong.”
“Why is it wrong?”
“Because, come on Jordan, it’s just wrong.”
“Okay, so is it also wrong that right now I’m wearing men’s clothing?”
[In truth, I was wearing boys’ clothing; men’s clothing is outrageously too big for me.]
“No, that’s not wrong.”
“Why is that?”
“Because you look sexy. Women look sexy in men’s clothes. Everyone knows that.”
“Everyone? I highly doubt that everyone agrees with that.”
“Well, okay, maybe not everyone, but most people think that women look sexy in men’s clothes.”
[This is my feisty little friend who I adore, but who prides herself on being an absolutist by replacing every possible “I think” with “everyone thinks,” “everyone knows,” or “Polish people believe.”]
“It seems to me that men wearing women’s clothes or women wearing men’s clothes is a matter of personal preference.”
“A matter of what?”
“Opinion. It’s a matter of opinion. I don’t think it’s a matter of “right” or “wrong.” I think it’s about what makes each individual feel comfortable.”
“Okay, fine, but be honest. Do you think it is pretty for men to wear women’s clothes? I mean, would you date a man who wears women’s clothes?”
“I don’t know. If I liked the person, I probably wouldn’t care one way or the other. And I certainly wouldn’t think that his choice to wear women’s clothes is wrong.”
“But Jordan, here’s the thing. Sometimes you like to wear a dress, right? And sometimes you like to wear men’s clothes, like baggy shorts that are too big for you, right? I mean, sometimes you are girlish and sometimes you are boyish.”
“I suppose you could put it that way, but basically I just like being me.”
“Okay, okay, but my point is this: women can be either girlish or boyish, but men can only be man-ish.”
“Says who?”
“Says everyone!”
“Try the media. Try the president.”
“Well, whatever.”
“No, not ‘whatever.’ Do you like wearing dresses?”
“No, not at all.”
“Well, what if I told you that you must wear dresses all the time because dresses are what ladies must wear. You are being un-ladylike if you wear pants. Wearing pants is WRONG.”
“Hey, why are you being on the man’s side?”
“Huh?”
“Why are you being so pro-man? You’re not being fair.”
“I’m not being pro-man and I’m not being pro-woman. I’m being pro- self-expression and trying to help you understand that you are using a double-standard by curbing freedoms of expression for men.”
“Why are we talking about this?”
“We’re talking about this because you originally said that it is wrong for your male friend to wear women’s shirts and women’s pants. Then you explained that it’s sexy for women to wear men’s clothes. You’re not being consistent. And I’m trying to explain this to you.”
“Okay, fine. Fine fine fine. He can wear women’s clothes. It’s not wrong, it’s just ugly.”
“Good. Ugly is an opinion. That’s fine.”
“Your shoes are ugly, too.”
“My shoes?”
”Yes, they’re really ugly, Jordan. I think you should go buy new ones. One’s that look more girlish.”
“Okay, thanks.”
“You know, I like having coffee with you. Sometimes you’re a pain in my ass, but I like you.”
“Likewise, my dear. Likewise.”