I Was Born With a Resting Bitch Face – Chapter 7 – Women At Work

Being a woman with ambition and a desire to work meant learning how to survive.

And surviving wasn’t fun.

I hated it.

I once worked on a project to launch a new international branch.

Website, marketing, call centres, partners. Everything needed to be translated into the local language.

Simple enough.

Except the branch manager was from a different country.

The languages were similar.

And apparently, he decided similar was good enough.

So he translated the entire website.

Into the wrong language.

The big boss didn’t notice. He didn’t speak either language.

Unfortunately for the branch manager, I’d studied the language we actually needed at university.

So when I opened the website, I had one question.

What the fuck is this?

Even the alphabet was wrong.

FOUR letters didn’t belong there.

Guess who had to fix it?

Me.

Guess who remained the branch manager?

Him.

And guess who the big boss was calling with work questions while she was IN LABOUR?

Also me.

Because apparently, being in labour didn’t mean I could stop being responsible for the project.

But somehow, I wasn’t the one running the branch.

After all, he wasn’t the one getting pregnant.

Men.

After my maternity leave, I started looking for a different job.

One interview was particularly memorable.

They asked me why I’d decided to return to work.

Apparently, I’d already completed my female duty.

I’d given birth.

So what exactly was I doing here?

I wish I were joking.

Men.

Another interview was even better.

Two candidates left.

Me and another woman.

The boss explained his concerns.

He had a wife and a child. His child was the same age as mine, and he wanted a second one.

Naturally, this meant I might want a second child too.

And then I’d get pregnant.

And leave.

And he needed someone who would stay.

The other candidate wasn’t married.

He hired her.

I considered explaining that, statistically speaking, an unmarried woman who might marry and start a family could be just as likely to take maternity leave as a woman who already had a child.

But why waste my breath?

I didn’t get the job.

And twelve years later?

Still one kid.

Men.

Now, imagine trying to build a career while dealing with conversations like these.

You couldn’t just be good at your job.

You had to look professional.

Serious.

Competent.

Not too friendly, because friendly could be mistaken for available.

Not too cheerful, because cheerful could be mistaken for someone who wasn’t ambitious.

And definitely not someone who would happily make coffee, organize somebody else’s schedule, and stay exactly where she was.

Men could joke.

Be casual.

Make mistakes.

Apparently, they could even translate into the wrong alphabet and still run a department.

Women?

We had to be careful.

With our words.

Our expressions.

Our ambitions.

So no, I didn’t walk into work smiling at everybody.

I walked in looking like I knew what I was doing.

Because I usually did.

And if that gave me a resting bitch face?

Fine.

At least it was written in the correct alphabet.