This morning I had what Matisse, a professional dominatrix from Seattle, describes as a “pretty girl moment”. I had to walk in this morning, and it was raining, which meant I had been carrying stuff for longer than usual and had more things to juggle; also it was a lot earlier than I usually arrive, and I wasn’t quite awake yet. All this meant that digging for my building ID was going to be tough, and I wasn’t in the mood for it–and to top it off neither of the usual guards were in the lobby when I got here. The guy behind the desk must be filling in, as I didn’t recognize him.
But in any case, as I walked through the door I said something to the effect of “My ID’s in my purse…” and he shrugged and waved me at the elevators. I said I’d bring it down in a minute, and he told me not to bother. And I know quite well I should have showed him my ID, and he knows he should have made me take it out. But he didn’t.
It’s a little odd, getting special treatment for something I had no hand in. It doesn’t happen to me as often as it happens, I imagine, to women who wear makeup most of the time or who are simply prettier than I am, but it’s often enough to be something I notice.