I got to work late today because I had a dentist appointment in the morning.
With luck, I found a parking space on the bottom floor, and, as I was heading for the door to the elevators, I saw the nice gentleman who runs the car wash concession in our garage coming along behind me. I held the door for him and, as we were getting on the elevator, I said, "Looks like a lovely day today." He said, "Yes it is. You should get your car cleaned." I, noncommittally, as I tend to clean my car myself, said, "You're right." He says, "We're running a special for you secretaries, this week. Twenty dollars a clean, instead of twenty-five."
Me: "I'm a lawyer."
He doesn't even have the grace to look ashamed.
I worked as a secretary during college. I have a secretary today who is almost an extra member of my family and who, I will specify right now, here, on the spot, is the reason behind my success, not to mention an incredibly gorgeous woman and a saint.
But, damn. Just damn. It's 2008. There's a woman running for president. I can not get on the fucking elevator to my fucking office without being mistaken for a fucking secretary.
I am going to turn someone into a newt.
And now I have to find a different place to get my car cleaned.
I'm a woman, a Witch, a mother, a grandmother, an eco-feminist, a gardener, a reader, a writer, and a priestess of the Great Mother Earth. Hecate appears in the
Homeric Ode to Demeter, which tells of Hades who caught Persophone
"up reluctant on his golden car and bare her away lamenting. . . . But no one, either of the deathless gods or of mortal men, heard her voice, nor yet the olive-trees bearing rich fruit: only tenderhearted Hecate, bright-coiffed, the daughter of Persaeus, heard the girl from her cave . . . ."