Madness

I signed up for Netflix today.
Actually, given that I got out of bed at noon (wasn't my bed), I did quite a lot of stuff today.
Back to the Netflix thing. I was hoping to be able to get the 6th season of Lost, but it wasn't on offer. Nor was Curb Your Enthusiasm. Like, what the fuck?
Anyways, Mad Men has always seemed like something I would like and so I watched the first episode of it.
Ladies: you've got to check this out.
I have had no small number of arguments, diatribes, drunken rants and patiently thought out conversations about how, in 2010, women are still second class citizens.
Yeah. We are. But you've got to watch this program to see how far we've come. I mean, I've heard the stories about how women would change out of whatever they were wearing and put on lipstick and what have you to greet their men at the door. Divorce was frowned upon. You weren't supposed to live with your beloved before marriage. Your duty was to your family.
Anyways, it's 2010 and I still don't get paid what my male counterparts do to do the same job. It's still dicey to walk to your car alone at 2am on a Saturday night. When I get raped? I'll likely be asked how much I had to drink and what I was wearing on the night that it happened. Three years ago? When the receptionist was off on a day that some high profile people were coming in to the office? I was asked to sit at her desk. I graduated from high school and from college with honors. I supervised a staff of five for a global organization. That day, a man of some import came in and wanted something printed off of his thumb drive. Playing the part of the acquiescent receptionist, I got on my hands and knees and looked for the port to plug his thumb drive into and realized there wasn't one on the receptionist's computer. I was working for a software company at the time.
I popped up from behind the desk and told him as much. He didn't believe me. I suppose he thought technology was baffling to me and so I encouraged him to please, double check my stupidity and prove me wrong. And so he, in his expensive suite, got on his hands and knees under the desk and: lo and behold! there was no port for a thumb drive.
He confirmed as much.
I then told him that I was temporarily filling in for the receptionist and that I knew I could plug his drive into the computer in my office, so if he could just man reception for a few moments I would go back to my office and print off his docs for him.
Anyways. I get why my aunt told me that "one day" I would get married. And I get why I work in a department of nine women that answer to one man.
I have been very angry for a long time about where women are situated in our society.
At least Mad Men has allowed me to see how far we've come.