There was a time, when dirt was new and children still rode their dinosaurs uphill both ways through the snow to school, that not everyone took a credit card.
Credit cards, being seemingly mysterious things, were thought to complicate life and many merchants prefered not to deal with them. So, those few that did welcome their use put some type of sign in their window letting you know which credit cards they took. Credit card holders looked for these signs, usually a small sticker in the window, to know their business was welcome.
Transgender people need a sign. For let’s face it: Being seemingly mysterious people, we’re seen to complicate life and many merchants prefer not to deal with us. The fact that this discrimination is legal in many places is mind-boggling to me. (Though not apparently to the governor of North Carolina, a dinosaur in his own right.)
That, however, is another post. And – let’s be honest here – I live in Eugene, Oregon. This is the state where if you deny a transgender couple a so much as a wedding cake, the attorney general will take you to court, and to the bank. It’s a heady and wonderful thing knowing your right to be treated equally is more than just a moral one.
And yet.
There’s what the law says you should expect and what actually happens. A dismissive glance from a gas station attendant, misgendering by a clerk when you ask a question, a dirty look when you ask where the dressing room is for your true gender: These things happen to transgender people every day across this country, no matter what the law says.
(Except the rude looks from gas station attendants, as in most states transgender people are allowed to pump their own gas. And no, this isn’t discrimination; no one in Oregon is allowed to pump their own gas. For in Oregon, gas pumps, being seemingly mysterious things, are thought to be complicated and dangerous, and so that people will not blow themselves up, we are legally barred from dealing with them.)
The reality is, there’s very few places a transgender person can go and feel totally relaxed about what they’ll find. So it would indeed be nice if there were a little sign in the window, maybe a little transgender flag, meaning “transgender people welcome here.”
Certainly, there are numerous places that sport the rainbow flag. As I told a city council once: “Never forget one of the colors in the rainbow flag is green.” But even that symbol isn’t a catch-all for transgender people; there are too many people within the LGBTQ community that think the fourth letter should be dropped from the group. As is so often the case, transgender people are left to fend for themselves.
One way they do that is by spreading the word about which places are transgender-friendly and which are not. Go to any online transgender community and you’ll find questions about who’s safe – and who isn’t – asked and answered. Grocery stores, dentists, car dealers: If someone offers a product or service, there’s probably at least an informal list of who’s open and accepting and who’s not. They are a wonderful idea – and I refuse to use them.
I refuse because I shouldn’t have to. Before I transitioned I made my spending decisions based the same thing everyone else does. I shop at Safeway because it’s close to home. I chose my dentist because she’s on my insurance plan. I bought my car from Toyota because I wanted a Prius. (OK, maybe “wanted” is too strong of a word, but you get the point.)
I’m not going to drive further across town or pick a service provider I’m not comfortable with for professional reasons just so I can be comfortable with them for personal ones. If they don’t like me? Well, they can kiss my ass. This is who I am, and it’s worked pretty well so far.
Except it hasn’t. There’s an inexorable toll to always wondering, always being on guard. Gladiator in the Colosseum or a lion tamer for Ringling Brothers, they’ll tell you the same thing: Just because you’ve kept the lions at bay doesn’t mean you’re safe.
I know why so many transgender people use those lists, why so many refuse to go anywhere they don’t feel 100 percent safe. Yes, going where you normally wouldn’t makes life complicated. But if you let your guard down even once you may up in the teeth of the lion – even in Oregon.
I wrestle with this reality every day; it’s as much part of my existence these days as breathing. I won’t lie and say I’ve changed my behavior. But I can’t pretend anymore that I’m not tired. I am.
Perhaps that’s why those places where I don’t have to wonder have become so important to me. My oasis, if you will, in a desert of lions. (OK, that’s enough of that metaphor.) A place that when I’m tired I can go and know that I’m allowed to let my guard down, even if it’s just for a minute.
My favorite is U.S. Bank on Crescent Road. Yes, I have a number of safe places around Eugene, but a big ol’ chain mega-bank might just be my favorite. Joey, Marilyn, Nekeeta, Stacy, Tom, Tracy: From literally the first week I started living as a woman, they’ve treated me like one of the girls – and they still do.
They compliment me on my hair, ask me where I got my nails done, and give me all kinds of other tips that are indispensable for a VERY young woman getting by in this world. (Seriously, how was I to know humidity makes your hair curl? Until a few months ago, the only hair I had was on my legs.)
The bank has become one of my favorite places. I go inside instead of using the drive-thru; doing withdrawals at the counter means I get to see everyone. Heck, I stop by even when I don’t really have a reason to go. (It’s not like there’s actual money in my accounts.)
I recognize this might sound like hypocrisy: Someone who refused to change their routine to find someplace trans-friendly now changes their routine because they found a place that was. Perhaps; lord knows it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been an – at best – contradictory transgender woman. On the other hand, I never saw U.S. Bank on anyone’s list, so there’s that. Whatever.
I just know that right now, I have another place I can go that feels safe. A place where I always feel welcomed, and always want to return to. It’s as simple as smiles on people’s faces and the cry of “Bethany!” when I come into the lobby, because that’s all I ever really wanted.
A sign that says everything is going to be OK.