Smile

March 29, 2016 by Ruth 36 Comments

I have resting bitch-face.  My lips naturally turn down at the sides when my face is at it’s resting position.  Which is often perceived as me frowning, I guess.  I don’t know of anyone whose lips naturally turn up into a smiling composition when they’re not intentionally smiling, but whatever.

I’m sitting here, minding my own business, doing my job.  Which is to say I’m staring at a computer screen, entering data, editing that data, and as a result I’m concentrating.  My face is at a resting position.

On more than one occasion, more than one male that I work with, has walked through as I’m sitting here at my desk, doing my work, staring at my computer screen, entering data, editing that data, and as a result concentrating, and said to me, “Smile!  You should smile more!”

I have never, in all the time I’ve worked here heard them tell any of the men who sit within earshot, also staring at their computers, also working, also concentrating, and also with resting bitch-face, to smile.  Never. Not once.

I have also not seen or heard any of the men at this workplace attempt to force other men to smile. I’ve not heard them referred to as, “sweetheart, “sugar,” “darlin’,” or “good lookin’.”

I’ve not heard any of the men tell the other men that they look good in those jeans.  Or stand over their desks playing a game of keep away with papers to try to illicit a response.

I no longer wear jeans to work because of this.

I refuse to play the game of keep away with the papers.

I’m then told, “You need to smile more.  You’re so pretty.  You’d be prettier if you smiled.”

WTF?

Why?  Why do I need to sit here staring at my computer screen with a smile plastered on my face?  So I’ll look prettier?  For whom?  Excuse me, that wasn’t part of the job description when they hired me.  I wasn’t told I’d need to smile so I’d look prettier for the men-folk.  I was hired to do a job and I do it damned well.  They don’t pay me to smile and look pretty.

Who does not know that this is inappropriate?

I’ll be the first to admit that I’m extremely uncomfortable with attention.  Maybe I’m taking this all the wrong way due to that fact.  I have always appreciated compliments on the work I do and my intellect far more than commentary on my appearance inside and outside of the office.

Somehow I muster a smile.

“Oh, see, at least I got you to smile!”

On the outside, asshole.  Only with my lips.  My eyes are telling a different story.  Did you not feel those daggers?

Rant over.