Since I became comfortable publicly presenting female, three things have held me back from going full-time: my wig, my wardrobe and my boss. My wig and I are working through our love-hate relationship; my wardrobe is pitiful, but workable; but my boss ... Now, that was a problem.
I work in the hospitality industry and deal extensively with the public, and my boss is from a different, more conservative culture. When I first suspected I might be trans, I asked him in an email if he would have any objection to my getting my ears pierced. He responded to the other matters in my email and ignored this question completely. So, when I next saw him, I asked him directly. He looked noticeably uncomfortable, and asked me, "Why?" in a tone of voice that spoke volumes. I dealt with it by reminding him that men in America get their ears pierced, too; and I got his assent. But the manner of his response guided my thinking on the subject of coming out on the job and to him personally.
For this reason, my boss was the last person I came out to. By the time I did, I had already begun using my new name at work; but we rarely saw each other, and the subject wasn't raised. He continued to call me by my old name. What forced the issue was my legal name change. Once I did that, he *had* to be told directly; there are tax consequences for both of us.
According to what I could glean second-hand, things looked like they were going to go south; and I started applying for other jobs. I was then told that he wanted a meeting on Monday, February 12th, at his office at another business he owns. I arrived early. The witness/3rd party in the room was a manager at this other business – an ally, with a trans nephew.
The conflict I had been expecting never materialized. There had been significant miscommunication. To make a long story short, my boss accepted the situation completely, advised me to tell him if I experienced any discrimination by other employees, and began using my new name and the right pronouns.
He did ask me if I planned to wear a dress to work, and stammered as he tried to get the question out; I took from that that he would have a hard time with that, and reassured him that my feminized male attire was something I could live with. At the time, I was wearing what I wear to work and showed him. So far, so good.
This morning, the assistant manager here, another ally, told me that he had asked her, "Why doesn't Ann dress as a woman?" or words to that effect. My mouth hung open; you could have knocked me over with a feather. Permission.
As soon as I got home, I made coffee, started breakfast and then got on the internet. It's President's Day, and there are *sales*. I eventually made it to JC Penney minutes after it opened; and, before too long, I was the proud owner of three copies of the same drab, black skirt that, unfortunately, corporate requires its female employees to wear.
And here I am. At work for about an hour. Only one strange look so far. (I did get a giggle out of a teenage girl at Walmart when I stopped there on the way to work, but that doesn't count.) The real challenge is going to be the Mexican work crews. Too bad I don't speak Spanish – or maybe that's a good thing.
Now that I'm here in my wig and my skirt, wearing makeup on the job for the first time, there's no going back. This occurred to me as I was getting ready for work; this is a door that shuts behind me once I pass through it. This realization gave me pause, momentarily. But I had no choice, really. It had to be done.
I didn't expect full-time to happen this way.
Ann has arrived. I'm still in shock, actually. I think I feel exactly as Bilbo must have felt when Gandalf hurried him out of his hobbit hole with no time to grab a handkerchief -- running down the road to adventure, only half-knowing what I'm doing.
