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rushthatspeaksRush-That-Speaks to Myself: Were you bothered by that conversation you overheard in the bathroom just now?
Myself: Somewhat. For one thing, I hate involuntarily overhearing other people's conversations, which is a thing that tends to happen in public restrooms. This is why I never *have* significant conversations in public restrooms.
R: Wise of you. But what I meant was, hadn't you thought they'd stopped all that nonsense?
M: Yes, I had. Dammit. It is even more aggravating to involuntarily overhear a conversation when it turns out to be gossip about oneself.
R: Have you been doing anything gossip-worthy lately?
M: No. Besides, it wasn't any referencing of actual events, just the usual bitchiness from the hall.
R: Which you had thought they stopped after Hell Week as they had all been being so much more cordial.
M: That they had. I think my showing up at trials demonstrated that I am not actually that scary and do wear things other than black and do, you know, have a sense of humor. At any rate they've all been saying hi and so on. With real friendliness.
R: So the problem is that you weren't expecting it.
M: No, the problem is that some of them were being nice and some of them were being bitchy and I couldn't tell by the voices who was who. Also, especially given how little time I've been able to put into it, you'd think they'd have been able to forgive the existence of the S&M Society by now. That was news back in fall semester, for crying out loud. At least they never got beyond the standard high-school cattiness level.
R: So the problem actually is that it reminded you of high school.
M: ...yeah. In high school I never used to overhear things so much, because people depended on the bathrooms less, but rumors did get about, as they always do, and they came to me eventually, whether I sought them out or not. I was always impressed that I managed to be both Class Dyke and Class Slut for two years before there was any actual evidence for either and before anything had ever happened in my personal life that I would not have been comfortable describing to my grandmother.
R: Well, this time the people you heard weren't using your sexual orientation as an insult-- given who they date themselves, that would be remarkably self-hating. You just got accused of being promiscuous again. Didn't you think you'd gotten used to that by now? It seemed to be people's reaction to you well before you had the hair and the facial piercing and the tattoo and wore short skirts. It's been people's reaction to you since you hit puberty; maybe it's pheromones or something.
M: Maybe. Still...
R: *Are* you promiscuous?
M: The definitions of promiscuity I've run across lately indicate that a woman is promiscuous if she has had more than five sexual partners in five years. By that definition, which is rather silly, I am. I am also, however, discreet, careful, respectful, polite, and honest. And have been doing nothing lately which should have been able to come to the attention of people who gossip in bathrooms.
R: Maybe your walls or your door are too thin?
M: I thought of that, and I asked Eredien-- since she lives next door-- quite some time ago if my music or anything of that sort were ever loud enough to bother her, and she said there wasn't a noise problem. And nobody else lives right next to me.
R: So you're confused.
M: And a little aggravated. It's not that I actually find it insulting; it's that they so clearly meant it to be in the terms of their discussion. I mean, I don't go around talking about them by name and in specific terms behind their backs. Not that they knew I was listening, because that is the sort of situation in which I really do not think one should speak up-- initially I wasn't paying attention, and then when I was I didn't want to make a scene. And there's nothing to be done about it, except hope they get sick of it and try not to let it get to me.
At least after this year I never have to deal with this sort of randomly assigned residential hall bathroom-sharing situation ever again. Yay.
Myself: Somewhat. For one thing, I hate involuntarily overhearing other people's conversations, which is a thing that tends to happen in public restrooms. This is why I never *have* significant conversations in public restrooms.
R: Wise of you. But what I meant was, hadn't you thought they'd stopped all that nonsense?
M: Yes, I had. Dammit. It is even more aggravating to involuntarily overhear a conversation when it turns out to be gossip about oneself.
R: Have you been doing anything gossip-worthy lately?
M: No. Besides, it wasn't any referencing of actual events, just the usual bitchiness from the hall.
R: Which you had thought they stopped after Hell Week as they had all been being so much more cordial.
M: That they had. I think my showing up at trials demonstrated that I am not actually that scary and do wear things other than black and do, you know, have a sense of humor. At any rate they've all been saying hi and so on. With real friendliness.
R: So the problem is that you weren't expecting it.
M: No, the problem is that some of them were being nice and some of them were being bitchy and I couldn't tell by the voices who was who. Also, especially given how little time I've been able to put into it, you'd think they'd have been able to forgive the existence of the S&M Society by now. That was news back in fall semester, for crying out loud. At least they never got beyond the standard high-school cattiness level.
R: So the problem actually is that it reminded you of high school.
M: ...yeah. In high school I never used to overhear things so much, because people depended on the bathrooms less, but rumors did get about, as they always do, and they came to me eventually, whether I sought them out or not. I was always impressed that I managed to be both Class Dyke and Class Slut for two years before there was any actual evidence for either and before anything had ever happened in my personal life that I would not have been comfortable describing to my grandmother.
R: Well, this time the people you heard weren't using your sexual orientation as an insult-- given who they date themselves, that would be remarkably self-hating. You just got accused of being promiscuous again. Didn't you think you'd gotten used to that by now? It seemed to be people's reaction to you well before you had the hair and the facial piercing and the tattoo and wore short skirts. It's been people's reaction to you since you hit puberty; maybe it's pheromones or something.
M: Maybe. Still...
R: *Are* you promiscuous?
M: The definitions of promiscuity I've run across lately indicate that a woman is promiscuous if she has had more than five sexual partners in five years. By that definition, which is rather silly, I am. I am also, however, discreet, careful, respectful, polite, and honest. And have been doing nothing lately which should have been able to come to the attention of people who gossip in bathrooms.
R: Maybe your walls or your door are too thin?
M: I thought of that, and I asked Eredien-- since she lives next door-- quite some time ago if my music or anything of that sort were ever loud enough to bother her, and she said there wasn't a noise problem. And nobody else lives right next to me.
R: So you're confused.
M: And a little aggravated. It's not that I actually find it insulting; it's that they so clearly meant it to be in the terms of their discussion. I mean, I don't go around talking about them by name and in specific terms behind their backs. Not that they knew I was listening, because that is the sort of situation in which I really do not think one should speak up-- initially I wasn't paying attention, and then when I was I didn't want to make a scene. And there's nothing to be done about it, except hope they get sick of it and try not to let it get to me.
At least after this year I never have to deal with this sort of randomly assigned residential hall bathroom-sharing situation ever again. Yay.
