4
Around her in the queue at Starbucks she hears a chorus of ‘penis’, ‘vagina’, ‘vagina’, ‘penis’ as the customers place their orders, and from the barista as he places the orders on the counter, at the collection area.
‘Cappuccino, no chocolate, penis!’ he shouts, placing the cup with a blue holder down on the counter.
The barista on the till is the same young woman every morning. Seventeen years old, gothic-looking with dyed black hair and pale skin, piercings all over her ears, eyebrows, nose, lips and tattoos covering her arms. Her nametag says Olaf, which the woman doubts, since the barista shouting the orders claims to be Elsa. Olaf has taken the woman’s order every single morning for the past year, and yet there is never a look of acknowledgement or any kind of greeting.
‘Good morning,’ the woman says perkily as she moves next in line.
Olaf doesn’t even look up, her fingers hover over the buttons on the cash register as she awaits the order.
‘Grande latte to go, please. Vagina,’ the woman says, lifting her arm and pulling her coat sleeve up to reveal her pink wristband.
The woman steps aside and waits, among others, for her coffee.
Elsa, the barista, suddenly shouts, ‘Grande latte.’
The woman and a man beside her both step forward at the same time. They look at each other and then back at the barista for more information. Elsa realizes his mistake and lifts the cup higher in the air. The cup has a pink holder.
‘Vagina,’ he shouts.
She takes her cup and goes to work.
5
The woman queues to enter her office building. Everyone ahead of her and around her seems to be dressed in grey, or dark muted colours in a charcoal world of grey, black, steel, cold glass buildings. It’s taking longer than usual to gain entry, and she steps out of line to see what the hold up is.
A woman in a bright red coat, with matching lipstick, is holding the door open for a man, who is extremely agitated by this.
‘Penis!’ the man says, holding up his arm to reveal his blue wristband.
‘Nice to meet you penis, I’m Mary,’ the woman in red says, irritated. ‘Go ahead, I can hold the door.’
‘No, no, no, I won’t hear of this,’ the man says. He moves out of line and stands behind the woman at the door, gripping the long steel door handle just above where Mary’s hand is placed. ‘After you.’
‘Really, it’s fine. I can do it,’ Mary replies. ‘I was already holding the door for you. I may as well keep holding it. This is ridiculous, we’re wasting time.’
‘You’re wasting time actually. After you. Go on. My pleasure,’ he says in a tone that suggests it is anything but his pleasure. He makes a gesture with his free hand and rolled-up newspaper for her to walk through, as if he’s batting a cow into a pen, but she refuses with a firm shake of her head. Mary is not going lightly and so they continue to bicker. ‘After you,’ ‘No after you,’ ‘I insist,’ ‘No I insist.’ The rudest politest conversation ever had.
‘Hey!’ the first man in line calls down the street. ‘Hey, thank God! Excuse me! Gender Police! Can you help us out here?’
The Gender Police are patrolling the sidewalk. The female gender cop is dressed in a candy-pink uniform and her younger male partner is dressed in baby blue. The two saccharine colours pop in an otherwise muted world. They’re carrying takeout coffee cups in their hands, which the female cop dispenses in the nearest bin as soon as she senses a problem. She loves her job, she thrives on her power. She strolls authoritatively to the man and woman who are both still tightly gripping the handle of the door, both of them refusing to give in.
‘Is everything okay here?’ the female gender cop says, approaching.
‘Yes,’ Mary snaps. ‘Everything is just fine. I am trying to be polite, that’s all.’
‘Polite, huh?’ the female gender cop says, placing her hands on her generous hips and surveying the growing queue. She is enjoying the tense silence, the attentive audience. ‘My assessment of the situation is that the opposite of polite is what’s happening here. Polite would mean you allowing that man to be helpful to you. Polite means everyone knowing their place and making sure we don’t upset the foundations of our society.’
‘Oh,’ Mary says. ‘Because I thought that polite was me holding the door for this person.’
The cop takes out her scanner and aims it at the woman’s pink wristband. ‘Let’s see who you are.’ The machine beeps and she studies the screen. ‘Mary Agronski. Four penalty points already. You’ve been misbehaving. Naughty, naughty vagina.’
‘Oh come on … you’re not going to charge me for this.’
‘An offence has been committed contrary to the Gender Recognition Act of 2017 involving the Honourable Gentleman Holding the Door, Article 7, in a public place, at 09:05 hours on the first day of September of this year. You may, during the period of twenty-eight days, beginning on the date of this notice and including the twenty-eighth day from today, pay a fixed charge of eighty dollars. If you do not pay that fixed charge during the said period, you will be served with a summons in respect of the offence and you will be required to appear in court. In accordance with this notice you receive two penalty points for your Public Gender Act offence.’
The female Gender Police officer holds the scanner against the wristband and waits for the beep.
‘That’s a total of six penalty points on the Gender Recognition Act. If you reach the maximum number of twelve penalty points, I hereby warn you that it will result in your being summoned to appear in a court of law where your punishment will be determined.’
The woman in red stares down the police, goes to say something, then decides to hold her tongue. So angry she can barely contain it, she finally lets go of the door-bar and storms inside the building. The Gender Police monitor the gender display that follows. Satisfied that everything is proceeding regularly again, they continue their patrol.
But as the woman watches the Gender Police walk away, she thinks about it, about what it would be like to revolt, to speak up, to be the woman in red. She swallows her words, then walks through the door. But she doesn’t say thank you.
6
The woman is seated at a grand conference table. Her beautiful secretary, Tyra, walks around the table handing out Biros and jotters. To receive these, each person displays their bracelet. Pink bracelet gets a pen with a pink lid and a pale pink pad, a blue bracelet receives a pen with a blue lid and pale blue pad. Tyra works her way around the table trying to catch the attention of the handsome businessman across the table. He looks like a male model. The woman smiles at her secretary as she watches her at work. Tyra finally stops at his seat and gives him flirty eyes. He nervously looks from her to the box in her hand, torn, not wanting to have to say the words expected of him.
But he does and he says them wearily, defeated.
‘Vagina,’ he says, revealing a quick glimpse of a pink wristband peeking out from his crisp white shirt.
Tyra’s eyes widen in horror and she moves on as quickly as she can. He pulls the shirt and pinstriped suit sleeve down further to hide the bracelet completely and lowers his eyes.
The woman can tell that he’s embarrassed, and feels degraded. She catches his eye and does her best to offer him a supportive smile but the damage has been done already. A beautiful woman balked at his true self. It seems such a simple thing, pink and blue gender recognition, but such simple acts as these mean so much more than she thought.
7
The woman stands at a fast-food counter with her six-year-old twins Jack and Jill. Her friend Rita has brought her twin son and daughter, Colin and Colleen, also six. Colleen is wearing a Disney princess dress, Colin is dressed as a pirate. Rita is chatting incessantly as she always does, without taking a breath.
‘The two cheeseburger kids meals are for …?’ the server interrupts Rita.
‘My two,’ the woman replies. She pats each child’s head as she explains. ‘One pe
nis, one vagina.’
The server places a pink princess meal and a blue dinosaur meal on the tray.
‘I want a dinosaur one,’ Jill moans.
Rita gasps. ‘What did she say?’
The woman is surprised by her daughter, she has never heard her say anything like this before.
‘I told you, Mum,’ Colleen looks up at Rita.
‘Okay, hush now, dear,’ Rita laughs nervously.
‘You told her what?’ Jill demands.
‘You know what,’ Colleen replies with a scowl. ‘All about you being all … you.’
‘Well that makes no sense,’ Jill argues. ‘If I’m not me, who else am I supposed to be?’
This comment jolts the woman and she looks at her daughter, surprised that she would stand up for herself like that, and in admiration at her wisdom.
‘Enough now, girls,’ Rita interrupts. ‘Let’s get away from here – people are staring.’
The woman notices that the server and the customers around them are casting dubious looks at Jill. A mother places hands over her daughter’s ears and sidesteps away from them. Jill bows her head, embarrassed by the reaction. The woman lifts the tray with one hand and places a protective arm around Jill’s shoulders, and leads her to the tables.
‘Four vaginas and two penii,’ Rita announces loudly to the waiting staff in the restaurant.
The four females sit on pink chairs and the two boys on blue chairs. While Rita rattles on, the woman tunes out and watches her children’s interaction with concern and intrigue. Jill plays with the plastic toy dinosaur from Jack’s meal – the dinosaur is eating the princess alive – and Jack uses the pink plastic jewelled costume ring toy from the princess meal to fire a laser at the dinosaur.
Colleen sits turned away from them, combing her Barbie’s hair. Colin torments her by stabbing at her doll with his pirate hook, trying to saw her hair off. Occasionally Colleen turns around to throw Jack and Jill looks of disgust. The woman, unable to concentrate on what Rita is saying, studies the dynamic with new eyes, learning.
8
In a bar, on their Saturday night out, the woman sits on a pink chair, at a pink table, drinking from glasses with umbrellas and straws and over the top fruit kebabs with a group of women. The woman sits back, feeling detached from the conversation, her mind replaying the same concerns over and over again, and watches her husband who is standing nearby with the group of husbands, all carrying pint glasses of beer.
Dan catches her eye and gives her a caring, questioning look to see if she’s okay. She’s not sure.
‘There were female dinosaurs, weren’t they?’ she pipes up suddenly to her female friends.
They look at each other, confused.
‘What are you talking about?’ Rita asks.
‘I’m talking about when dinosaurs walked the earth. There were male dinosaurs, big scary dinosaurs … and then there were female dinosaurs. Big scary dinosaurs. Because if there weren’t female dinosaurs, how would they have had baby dinosaurs?’
‘Of course there were female dinosaurs,’ Rita says gently, concerned.
‘So I could wear a dress, with a dinosaur on it. A female one?’
Her friend Ella giggles. ‘A pink dinosaur dress, maybe.’
Rita places a hand on the woman’s arm. ‘Is everything okay? Is this about Jill and her … you know … issues?’
‘No. Yes. No. I’m just saying. I mean, there were female dinosaurs too, you know, and I don’t think any of them were pink.’ She looks at them all, appealing for their understanding, but they stare back her wide-eyed.
‘Okay,’ Rita says slowly.
9
The woman and her husband are out for dinner with two of his male business colleagues. The woman is deep in conversation with one when the waitress approaches to take their order.
‘Oh, I haven’t even read the menu yet,’ the woman says, apologetically. ‘Sweetheart, why don’t you go ahead while I decide quickly?’ she says to Dan.
She studies the menu but their intense gazes on her force her to look up. ‘I don’t know about you, boys,’ Bob says. ‘But where I was raised we were all taught: vagina first.’
Dan winces at that.
She returns her attention to the menu, irritated, agitated, under time pressure and self-consciously speed-reads while the three men and the waitress stare at her in a long tense silence.
Finally she snaps the menu shut.
‘Steak, please.’
The waitress looks at her for more. The woman knows what she is expected to say but for once she feels like she has said enough.
‘I’ll have the steak, please,’ she repeats.
‘Oh, I heard that part, but which steak? Petit filet for vagina, or T-bone for penis?’
She loses her temper and snaps.
‘I had to order first, didn’t I? So it’s pretty obvious that I’m supposed to have the vagina steak.’
‘Can I see your band, please?’ the waitress asks.
The woman pulls up the sleeve of her tuxedo jacket and holds her wrist up with a tightly clenched fist.
There’s a tense silence.
‘And I’ll have the steak. Penis. T-bone,’ Bob says, shaking his wrist at her.
‘I’m having the same,’ Roger says. ‘In fact, I think we all are, aren’t we, Dan? How’s about you write down three penis steaks.’
The woman watches Dan, who looks thoughtful. He closes the menu slowly.
‘Actually, I’m going to have fish. John Dory.’ He lifts his hand, fist clenched, just as the woman had. ‘Penis.’
The woman and Dan share a look and they grin.
When the plates of food are placed before them there are toothpicks with small tags piercing the meat and fish. Blue tags for the T-bone and John Dory, and a pink tag for the petit filet. The woman lifts her glass of wine and notices that it’s empty. She reaches to the ice-bucket beside her for the bottle of wine.
‘Nu-uh,’ Bob says, wagging a finger in her face, grinning. He grabs the wine bottle by the neck, and pulls it from the water. As he pours wine into her glass, the water from the bucket drips all over her steak.
‘Thanks,’ she says, through clenched teeth.
10
The woman leaves the shopping centre, weighed down by the number of bags in her hands. They are heavy and there are many, but she is perfectly capable of carrying them. Her car isn’t far. Behind her, a man is in the same predicament. Two men, strangers, rush over to assist her.
‘Let me take them from you,’ says one man.
‘No, no thanks, I’ve got them,’ she says, and keeps walking.
‘I’ve got them,’ the second man steps in front of her, hands out to take them.
The woman steps around him and continues walking to her car. They block her again and try to assist her, so helpful that they almost trip her up by getting in her way.
‘No thank you,’ she says firmly. ‘You’re very kind but I’m fine. I can carry them, really, no thank you. I’m fine. Please no.’
The man who had been struggling with his shopping bags drops one as the plastic handle snaps. A bag empties on the floor and nobody assists him as he attempts to pick everything up from the sidewalk. Oranges are rolling along the ground. A car crushes an orange while he watches on, exasperated.
The second man steps closer to her and his tone is aggressive. ‘We’re helping you. We’re being kind and honourable.’
‘This is not kindness!’ she raises her voice. ‘You’re being pests!’
The nearby Gender Police overhear her. She is making a scene and they wander over to her, candy pink and blue in an otherwise grey concrete car park.
‘Okay, okay, watch your tone now,’ the female Gender Police officer says. ‘Calm down please, madam.’
‘Oh for goodness’ sake!’ the woman says. She tries to make a run for it, away from them all, to her nearby car.
‘Whoa there,’ the female Gender Police officer says and the gang all catch up
with her. ‘Do not evade the law unless you want penalty points.’
‘Evade the law? I haven’t done anything wrong! I just want to carry my own bags.’
‘In accordance with the Gender Recognition Act of 2017, these honourable gentlemen have offered to carry your bags that you are about to drop any moment, and you, as far as I can see, are being aggressive—’
‘I’m not!’ she yells. She pauses. ‘Okay, maybe I am now, because you are making this a big deal. My car is just over there. I can do this alone.’
The bags are slipping from her grasp.
‘I tell you what’s going to happen here. You’re going to put those bags down. You’re going to allow both of these kind men to assist you to your car and then you’re going to thank them. Do you understand?’ the male gender cop says.
The woman thinks about it. She is so frustrated but she is causing a scene and suddenly intimidated by these four people ganging up on her.
‘Yes, I understand.’
‘No funny business,’ the female gender cop says.
‘Fine.’
The woman begrudgingly places the bags on the ground. The two men take one each and walk the ten remaining paces to the car. She opens the trunk and they place them inside. She closes the trunk and walks to the driver door where she places her hand on the handle.
‘Nu-uh,’ the male police says.
She sighs and steps back. The first man opens the door for her. She gets into her seat and he closes it.
11
The woman is having a family day at a public park.
‘I need to pee, Mum, really bad,’ Jill says suddenly, dancing by her side.
‘Okay, I’ll take you.’
A male Gender Police officer stands outside the toilets monitoring the wristbands of each entrant. Baby-blue uniform against a grey wall. Ahead of them each person reveals their wristband and announces their gender before being granted entrance to the toilet. A beautiful woman ahead of them in the queue is stopped.
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