Today I met an misogynist and I survived.

If I haven't mentioned it before, I work in outside sales for a retrofit construction company ie. 23 year old attractive female, surrounded by 50 plus males. This position seemed like a dream come true for an self-proclaimed attention whore, such as myself. Today, I not only realized the challenges women face when dealing with men who are attracted to them, but also the negativity any sex receives when in an industry uncharted by their gender.

I found a new company two weeks ago and left information and samples of our product for the owner to look at at his convenience. One week later, I received a phone call asking me to come by and answer questions, provide pricing, etc. Normal. Done it before. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Our appointment was set for 9:00 am today. I show up at 8:45 because I have a problem not showing up early. I am informed upon arrival that the owner, "Steve," is at an appointment and will not be there until 10:00. "That's fine." I begin. "I can go and come back." Fortunately, I had another appointment around the corner that took a half an hour, which allowed me to multi-task, which is a turn on for me. I have a point, bear with me. I go to my other location and return at 9:45, early again. I patiently wait for Steve, and pass time by writing a list of things I need for Palm Springs, knowing that I already had the list completed in my head and that I would not look at it again.

Steve finally arrives at 10:15, driving a red truck. He invites me into his office, clears a chair for me and manages to call me "young lady" at some point within our initial meeting. Before I can even begin my pitch I am stopped with, "Wait, you have ever installed a window before have you?" Excuse me. Do I even need to answer that? Although my inner dialogue tends to be laden with sarcasm, this is not. I am a 23 year old female, in kitten heels, fake nails and makeup. I am not a 23 male in a t-shirt and jeans, nor a 56 year old butch dyke named Roxanne. I know I am generalizing greatly here, but the odds that I install windows are slim to none. The fact is that he asked me that question to dictate his authority over me, the situation and my knowledge of "his" industry.

After his condescending remark, I resort to my background in professionalism and digress. I continue our conversation by prequalifing him with questions like "who do you currently purchase from," "what does you volume look like," "which products do you currently stock," etc. He answers my questions and proceeds to look at the brochure that I had provided two weeks prior. I sit patiently while he peruses the brochure. Realizing the absurdity of me sitting there while he reads literature to himself, a task which could have been completed at any time within the last two weeks, I clear my throat and begin, "Let me show you some of our new products that aren't in our catalog." To which he interrupts me with, "Oh yeah, I have them right here."

Again I question my role in waiting over an hour and sitting in his office in the first place. He hands me the piece I previously left for him, not without the sly remark, "Here, why don't you show me what this is for..." Asshole.

I begin, "this is used when the window...." only to be interrupted with the answer. That's correct Steve. Wow, it must be really difficult to be such a dick all the time like yourself. How do you do it? Are there some classes I can take or just it just come naturally? Maybe you can teach me how to be a dick and I can teach you how to put on fake eyelashes, read fashion magazines and talk like a valley girl since "like, I am so like totally good at doing like all those like things and like know nothing about any like other stuff." After receiving the answer to his obviously rhetorical question, I continue with the second selling point of the product, which he obviously already knows everything about. He then adds, "oh, but that's just what the GUYS back at the office told you though, right?" Oh, my God. I am about to freak out like I did earlier today. 10 deep breaths......1...2...3....

Okay, the obvious insult is that since I am female, I MUST have been educated by big, strong, intelligent men as to the subject matter which I am relaying. I mean that is the ONLY feasible answer to his question. There is no way that I was able to read through our brochure, and ask questions, and research other window manufacturers websites in order to better educate myself. That is just absurd. Come now. Even though I did obtain a B.A., and made Dean's list more than once at a highly acclaimed university, there is no plausible explanation that I know about my product, other than what was told to me, by men at the office, nonetheless.

If I could ask Steve anything it would have to be, well after the anxiety and anger subsides that is, "how else do we learn about things, completely foreign and out of our realm of understanding, other than someone teaching it to us?" Isn't that why we go to school in the first place, to learn from someone who has a deeper understanding on an issue which we have none? Yes, Steve, the "guys" back at the office told me that "contractors use this product as an upgraded version to square cutting the flat." Are you happy now? I know nothing. I am merely a shell to bear children, shake my boobies, brush my hair and smile.

Moving on. After Steve has already managed to belittle, berate and completely dismiss me in his mind, he finds it in his heart of hearts to give me a second chance, a chance to segregate myself from all the other women that have burned him so badly in his pathetic existence. "Well," he starts, "you can't be that bad." Geez, really Steve? I mean you only met me fifteen minutes ago. Are you sure you already want to give me the benefit of the doubt like that? "You do drive a red truck," he continues. As if him and I using a similar mode of transportation as him HAS ANY BEARING ON MY CHARACTER, MORAL UPBRINGING OR GOODNESS. "Wait," he stops himself. Uh oh. I can only guess what is coming next. "Is that even your truck, or is it the company truck?" Think Wanton Hussy. Think. This is the deal breaker. Either you lie and save face and say it is your truck so that he musters one shred of amicability towards you, or you tell him the truth and ruin any chance of him ever seeing you as anything more than a nagging vagina. Oh, what to do, what to do.

Fuck it. What do I have to lose? "It's the company truck." BOOM, CRASH, BANG, SIZZLE. Flames lick at every word as it leaves my perfectly lipglossed mouth. "Whore." I can hear him thinking. At this point, I am wasting his time and he is mine. I quickly attempt to dilute the situation and proceed to make my exit, with the promise of pricing to be faxed to him. I will not be visiting Steve anytime in the near future.

Once in the car, dumbfounded by the audacity of the situation, I jot down the phrases that resonate through my head like a racist remark, a crude joke or a hostile breakup. "Wait, you've never installed a window have you," "oh, you mean what the guys back at the office told you," "you drive a red truck so you can't be that bad, right?" Right.

Hot, angry, alligator size tears of frustration stream down my cheeks. I can't stop them. I'm not crying per say. There is no sobbing or shortness of words, no difficulty swallowing, just the tears. Just the realization that some people are assholes for no good reason and we have to cohabitate with them, on this very small earth. The realization that people are not innately good or kind, but evil, vindictive and cruel. Not only cruel, but crude as well.

Case in point, I continue on with my day, as this was only my second stop of many. My odds of the day getting much better were in my favor, as at this point I couldn't see them getting much worse. At the next location, I am well received and able to give my "pitch" without being interrupted. However, upon an employee educating another employee as to what I sell, the one employee responds, "She's cute. I'll take one of her." A compliment you would think. I should be thankful that men look at me in this way. Incorrect. When it is 11:00 a.m. on a Thursday, and I am wearing a flowy skirt past my knees, a collared shirt and sweater vest, and minimal makeup, this is not the reaction I seek from men. Also, do you not see that this is not a compliment in my appearance, but a dismissal of myself as anything more than an item for sale, similar to a product in our brochure? How do I react to this? "Only items in the brochure are for sale." Quick thinking. Putting him in his place. Bringing the conversation back to the product. Asserting my professionalism, despite my sex and age.

The rest of my day remained quite uneventful. Despite the morning cup o' misogyny and brunch eye fuck, I was just another girl out in the world, trying to make a buck and catch a break.