Once upon a time…
In a galaxy not so far away…
A lady went to a conference about storytelling and had a very uncomfortable experience.
So there she was. Mid-30s, professional, award-winning in her role, sitting in on a conference with about 50 other professionals. The speaker was lively and energetic, an older gent and one clearly passionate about his subject. She was there to learn, to get a little insight into the art of storytelling, to hear what this guy had to say.
The first thing he asked was for people to rate their own ability as a storyteller. Now she was a published author, writing was her passion, so she had to back herself. She was a little hesitant to give herself 10 out of 10 though, she felt it was conceited, but her friends encouraged her to do it and in the end she settled on a 9, it seemed fair enough – not too arrogant but confident in her own ability.
She was of course singled out by the presenter as soon as he found out her score.
But it wasn’t for her talent.
The theme of the conference suddenly took a shift. According to the presenter, storytelling was a very sexual thing. Back in the day, those members of a community who were gifted wordsmiths were also notorious Lotharios. It made sense in a way, they were centre-stage, all eyes on them, confident enough to perform in front of multitudes. It was funny and a little embarrassing. A red flush crawled across the lady’s cheeks and she laughed it off. Even when the presenter told all the men in the room to watch out for her… she was clearly a very sexual creature. Bodies shifted uncomfortably on seats and people coughed politely. And the presenter moved on.
To poetry.
A poem in fact that the lady loved and knew well. When asked who wrote it she immediately answered, only to shy away from the sound of her own solitary voice echoing in a room full of silent people. She was certain others would’ve answered as well but no-one did.
The presenter raised an eyebrow and smiled.
All eyes on her.
He made a joke about her being a gifted storyteller and a lover of poetry, she must have a great sex life.
She cringed.
The presenter said she must be single. She corrected him. Happily married for 5 years.
He said she must not have children. She corrected him again. Her son had just turned 2.
He said she needed to have more children, she wasn’t making good enough use of her ample gifts and clearly needed more practice.
The coughs and shuffling intensified around her and she leaned to her friend as the presenter checked his slides,
‘should I tell him the story of how I can’t have any more children?’ she asked. Her friend didn’t know where to look.
The conference plodded on. The lady didn’t volunteer any more answers. She played dumb. She didn’t utter a word. She didn’t want the attention of the crowd but at every opportunity the presenter swung back to her, back to her gift as a storyteller, back to her apparent sexual magnetism. She remained centre-stage throughout.
It ground on and on. Comment after comment. Great storytellers become great storytellers to get laid. Wink wink. Shuffle shuffle. Cough cough.
When the session was over, the lady was the first out the door. She avoided eye-contact with everyone. Even her friends. She tried not to hear the murmurs from the other people, the whispering and the snickers. She smiled with her eyes downcast to those who sought her out later and said the presenter was inappropriate. She held the feedback form in her hand and wondered what on earth to write. Her ability as a storyteller had deserted her. She was without words.
***
And that could be the end of the story. Except it isn’t. Because in true narrative form there’s a twist.
Our protagonist wasn’t a lady at all but a young man. This young man to be precise. The presenter in turn was a woman. The jokes were there, as was the discomfort, the coughing and the shuffling, if anything they were far more lude than what is written here. I’m a man after all. I can take it. This story wouldn’t be anywhere near as interesting if the gender of the protagonist was revealed at the start though would it?
I wonder why that is?
Would love to know your thoughts. Thanks for reading.
The post A short story about sexism appeared first on Aussie Daddy Bloggers.
