The rat guy came today with his supervisor to see if there's a hole somewhere under the slab where the rats are gaining access. Bad news: Yes. Good(?) news: We can probably just fill the slab in with dirt. Hmm. Some more phone calls are in order.
Anyway, that part is boring. What interested me was the casual chauvinism of the supervisor, a polite and intelligent-seeming man.
He finished the test and came out back, saw me, and looked flustered.
Him: Is your husband upstairs?
Me: I'm not sure.
Him: I need to talk to him.
Me: You can talk to me.
Him: I can talk to you?
Me: Sure!
Him: Oh! Ok, well, blah blah blah bunch of stuff in man language that only men can understand.
Whatever, dude, it's my house too, and I've been in on this whole rat thing since the beginning. I can handle it.
Also, when they talk to me, Eric is always "Eric." When they're talking to Eric, I am always "your wife here."
I encounter subtle signs of sexism every day, even from people who would never in million years consider themselves sexist, but most guys at least act like they know better, even if they have assumptions they can't quite shake. I don't spend a lot of time looking for it or dwelling on it when I find it. But that exchange was a little too obnoxious to ignore. I am glad this sort of thing happens infrequently enough in my life that it is noteworthy. It's still entirely too pervasive, but the world seems to be very slowly passing guys like that by.
And now...three-day weekend! I hope you have one too, and that it is tremendous.