In with the old, out with the new.

I can’t help but have 2006 immersed through my whole body. Winter is always a nostalgic season of reflection. One can never help but look at the bare trees only to imagine what they looked like a mere 3 monthes ago. The memory seeks to arrange them in such a way that brings comfort. Innocent gazes emit throughout a series of events from the year past and leave me with feelings of apprehension.

you always listen other entrepreneuers- striving and already successful- recall on their past experiences and feelings of wondering if the world was going to let them in. Let them in to cash in on all of societal offerings. Status, lattes, vacations, states of being, the privilege of good health and everything encompassing.

I will have to be perfectly honest with you. Where is my confidence? Where is my killer instinct? I always thought capitalistic ventures was displaced hunting instinct. In many eays they are synonymous with one another. And of course, both acts are mainly associated with masculinity. Does that mean I am doomed in this endeavour? No of course not, but I can’t help but question not my success, or ability to achieve but instead my own confidence.

I can’t help but sit back and look at all the confident personas in this world. When I think of whose presence strikes me by nothing more than their confidence (not cockiness, not arrogance, but good ole confidence), almost all the faces are men. I laugh at the thought of their existence, and am entertained and oddly comforted by the thought of their own smugness. In many ways they are my role models. Successful, entertaining characters embodying many desirable characteristics based on personality. Oh there’s a thought.

Then I wonder where are all the female figures serving as role models in my life? I obviously have my mother, aunt, cousin- all close female family members. I have my friends. I turn my attention to the media. Where are the star athletes who I admire for their prowess and quick attention. Where are those big shot lawyers whose gift for words and-confidence- can take on the world. Where are those CEO’s. Where are those poets…(well actually that’s a bad example, how many poets exist at all)

Where’s the range of role models? Where are those women who would truly let any little girl (even if its just at heart) believe they could truly do anything.

I guess I better get workin….

International Sisterhood of Electrical Workers?

I look towards the IBEW as a reference point when looking for a legitimate, established organization that takes gender and associated work identity and brings it to straight into the capitalistic society we all thrive in. A band of brothers all looking out for one another after a long hard day’s work. All looking for each others’ support in order to further stabilize one’s attained socio-economic plot in life. Although the website does thank women for their role in establishing the IBEW in the 1800s, what does this international brotherhood of electrical workers- and in 2006 moreso tradesworkers- mean?

Growing up in North America in an immigrant household, the lack of any cohesive culture in the boonies of Long Island became increasingly apparent to me. Here I was, going from the tight knit familial structure that was dictated by an even larger cultural schemata. Everything and everyone had a meaning and place, providing a strong sense of identity and security at its best, and causing havoc and mayhem at its worst. Gender identity of course was one of the most important components to ensuring that this system worked. Women and Men each had a different set of ideals and tasks to complete in any given day.

I do not necessarily frown upon this structure, as many benefits I believe arises from designating behaviors, ideals and tasks according to one’s gender. When faced with a similar set of challenges, chores, and expectancies in life, it allows females and males to bond with their fellows. This can be attested to the fact that not only to the chances that tasks and chores get done together and perhaps in the same room thus allowing abundant socializing time, but also because each gender is provided to an extent with a life scheme in which one-on-one relating becomes possible.

Living in a house where all the men would collectively be working on a project and all the women on another, it was quickly made apparent that a collective identity amongst either groups is present. Here a sisterhood could and can be found. But where was this sisterhood outside of my home? There was no collective memory between myself and my next best female friend. Of course we would share a bank of common ideals and experiences, but they would rarely spread far and beyond such a large group of girls that would compel us to come together and share, support and strive for better. Perhaps our North American high regards for individuation was so strong that it had acted has our largest hindrance. With no overarching culture dictating our lives, what did and do we really have?

Yet in the world of contracting men have a collective identity deeply rooted in the work they produce. Getting down and dirty for long hours at a time to the point where one may be accepted amongst the homeless as their own (yes its happened), contractors have a sense of what it feels like to be an “outsider” even if in reality they are a legitimate member of the middle class or above. And when you are building the homes and businesses for everyone else, a sense of self-validation comes about as you posess the skills and knowledge that everyone else around you so desperately needs.

When on a ladder, a construction worker might work by and give you a nod, initiating and legitimating you as one of their own. Sometimes I too would get these nods of approval, but they were far outweighed by the “What? You’re working?!” and the “What’s a girl like you doing here?” In other words, in more cases than not, my work-which I saw as the crux- did not initiate me into the world of manual laborers. And it did not because it was probably a common perception that perhaps I was not doing the same work because I was a girl. Or maybe it was rooted in some kind of chivalry that somehow contorted itself into strange inquiries and expressions instead. Or maybe it was because previously, there was no female in this particular bank of collective memories. (And of course if I come on a jobsite to talk to a client in my normal clothes I am always asked if I am a designer, but that is another story on its own.) The strength of camarderie that would build amongst men who laboured and toiled together is apparent. With gender identity being such an important part of self-identifying with one another, I was unable to be fully accepted as a fellow member on many occasions.

Many days I left perplexed after a long hard day’s work. I was equally as dirty, unkempt and tired as my fellow male partners, yet I missed out on the many bonding experiences that seemed to happen so casually amongst male tradesworkers who were strangers. I recall days where my co-workers would tell me about all the hilarious and interesting exchanges between him and this other painter/electrician/general contractor/brick layer that may have just been passing him by, or sitting next to him on the subway. They would compare who was dirter and have a good laugh. Or maybe they would share some unbelievable and comical work stories.

Whatever it was, these experiences (or the omission of them from my life) only made me realize further that women were in their own ways desperately in need of a common bond. But what is keeping us from forming it?

fore…

(wo) man.

Although this next exchange in which I will make reference to was rather short, the intensity between male/female dialogue was everpresent. Perhaps in the past few years of being immersed in this field of work, I have frequently been subjected to the complexities and miscommunications between males and females. My experiences do not reference modes of dominant/submissive relations between males and females but rather a vastly differing set of skills, methods and perhaps even whole languages that persist in  gendered semantical sets.
Is it possible that much of what we as sociological spectators- hobbyist and habitual alike- and (even scholars?) have interpreted the many exchanges between men and women in such an assymetrical lens that we have overtly-and perhaps unfairly- judged through a negative and thus abusive light when what we were witnessing was a cultural clash?  It is not that I am trying to marginalize or deny any maligning or derogatory behavior because fact of the matter is that many cultural clashes have erupted into some of our the largest humanitarian catastrophes.  That there is no denying. But, there are always a number of ways one can view any given situation and so I urge you to try and re-focus your attention towards a different perspective, so that we can at least take an exploratory journey to seek new possibilities of being able to better live within and amongst ourselves.

With this in mind, I reverberate on this short conversation that took place during the morning.  It was between myself (female) and another individual with whom I work with (male).  As I began my morning office chores, I realized that there were a few documents I needed to get from him.  They were both simple sheets, one noting the hours worked by himself and his 3-man crew for one day, while the others were copies of estimates and client contracts completed by him.

I  got on the phone and started talking.  We briefly reminisced about the weekend but hastily headed into the topic of work.  I let him know that I was in need of these sheets.  There was a defensive impatient reply as he soon revealed he was in the middle of doing work.  Neither of us were particularly aggressive or inappropriate in our exchange but rather we had casually slipped into our male/female alter-roles.  In a sense our brief conversation had quickly assumed the characteristics of a couple engaged in a mild bickering contest- the accusor and the accused.  Rather than behaving like two professional adults requesting from one another items and services necessary to make any normal business day function smoothly, whether it was the way I worded my request initially, or the way I later responded to his answer all our bottled up stereotypes of the others’ identity emerged to cause this unncessary and foolish tension.  All within 30 seconds.  He updated me a bit about the jobsite scenario when I inquired about the budget and scheduling but our conversation was cut short when he informed me that there were some issues that should be discussed in a more private setting.  I said that was fine and we said our goodbyes.

When I hung up the phone I was left feeling slightly incompetent of managing of my own operation, a bit gypped by his response and confused by what just happened.  As far as I could see these were very simple requests that were not brought about in any high tension, schedule pressing circumstance.  They were protocol that needed to be adhered to a bit more strictly but other than that- no big deal.  I thought that is what I had communicated.

Or was it?  I started to review the chain of events again in my head.  Then I began entertain to think that maybe it was an old-fashioned case of sexism.  I wasn’t quite sure but also was not particuarly vexed and resumed my workday.

Later that day, my business partner gave me a synopsis of workplaces occurrences.  He informed me that he had a conversation with the jobsite manager with whom I spoke to in the morning and that indeed he was feeling a bit annoyed by my approach.  Then he gave me some tips on how I could more effectively communicate with men.  It was not that I had necessarily done anything wrong or particularly offensive, but that my manner of speech was one that did not translate favorably to males who needed to take orders from anyone-females included.  Strange I thought.  Continuing on he gave me some “insider tips” and proceeded to explain the sensitivities of the male ego and told me that I should just be more cognizant about how men feel when they are “told what to do,” and to manuever around that for the benefit of all.  And succumbing to any prejudices held by others’ would in actuality be my worst defeat.

All too often we are seduced and unconsciously and independently pursuaded into cashing in on the stereotypical semantical structures that free float around us.  Like the phone conversation earlier today, both parties stood at uncomfortable edges and proceeded to carry on, rather than taking a breath and trying a new approach.  Feeling momentarily disempowered by circumstance (and circumstance alone really) because I was a younger female talking to an older man, I stammered about and communicated in a manner that could have been a bit more tactful and considerate.  In retrospect, just like I became attune with past exchanges with men, perhaps he at the same time felt momentarily stifled by silent echoes of any past negative exchange with a female and thus felt the need to become overly defensive.    The point is, I do not feel that either of us wanted the other to feel how we both did at the end of the conversation.  A combination of a differing cultural understandings of one another (language, social behaviors, methods of communication) and a reliance on past experiences (perhaps those also unfairly judged) resulted in nothing catastrophic, but surely nothing that was particuarly needed.

bear with me…

It’s difficult to say where I should start. This documentation is already 3 good, long years in the making. On a day like today, I might as well start with a bit of history…

Eager to escape the everyday workplace oppressions associated with cubicle life post-achievement of a liberal arts degree, myself and two others decided to dabble in the world of self-employment. Lucky enough for two of us, we had a mentor and leader who had greater confidence and a tad more experience in the world of work. With this charismatic leader by our side we proceeded to begin painting houses in a downtown urban environment.

With internationally soaring real estate prices and more than a handful of historical homes in the hands well-to-do families, entering the world of house painting seemed like the logical path to success. With all sorts of fantastical ideas inseminated into our brains already by larger house painting corporate conglomerates such as First Choice Painting (google it and you’ll see its offspring) and a burning desire to be independent from the very beginning of our adult lives, three of us ventured into the contracting world.

I must add that at this stage none of us actually knew what the contracting world meant. The hard work, the brisk attitudes, the quick wits of many tradespeople, their deadbeat drunk imposters, the ability to problem solve, the time management, the project management, the scraping, the endless array of products, the dishonest clients, the caffeine and niccotine addictions, the mess, the liabilities, etc. All we wanted was 3 monthes worth of work and a few thousand dollars to show for it in the end.

From the beginning I was filled with doubt. But I was also filled with (a foolish) optimism for hard work and perserverence. It would also be a lie however to deny that during this time, I questioned my ability to carry out this work. From dealing with clients to executing the work, I had no idea how a 5’1″ 115lbs female (and Asian nonetheless) was to survive. Much of my doubt however was muffled by the notion that this would be a short term project. And much of my (stubborn) confidence came from the fact that my parents were immigrant success stories. The odds were against me, but I couldn’t cash in on the ominous intimations yet. I figured I would never know until I went out there and worked to the death.

Hiding behind my sheer veil of confidence was my nervously pitched voice and a fairly dim set of wits regarding home renovations issues. But by my side were two other people who both believed. Allured by the thought of being a self-made independent, I started knocking on people’s doors to ask if they wanted their house painted.

baking cookies in a pink dress

forgive me- as of yet- as this world of blogging so to speak is nothing short of a new frontier for me. at this point it just seems rather common-sensical that i should be able to expel my thoughts in a public forum at no charge. lo and behold.

 

this is a project that i have been wanting to undertake for awhile now. sharing my rather crude observations of a gendered world where i- at times- seem to occupy a transient space. in this social mileau, many combinations of personality types, cultural backgrounds and perceivably even sexual orientations (?) thrive very well.

in many aspects this particular world- this particular field of work- is one that i admire for its eclectic groups of people and their input of grueling long hours of mental and physical work. it is one that goes undeserved and largely unnoticed- even by those who hire you and live in your work station for weeks at a time. it is a field of work that our society could never be without and yet, most would never want to be a part of.

nevertheless for the many who choose this line of work, it is a chance to work independently and without the many burdens of performing emotion-based work that marks other industries such that of service. it is an opportunity to work in a number of challenging and different environments and a means to build skills that will probably be in demand in most places of the world- developing and developed. it is also the field of work marked by a high percentage of those who are self-made millionaires. it is also the field of work that was highlighted by the new york times when the immigration debate was at its highest in the summer of 2006.

 

it’s contracting.

 

it’s building. it’s construction. it’s renovation. it’s drywalling. it’s re-plastering. it’s plumbing. it’s being an electrician. it’s gutting. it’s re-insulating. it’s paving. it’s reinstalling doors, doorframes, windows, crown moulding, shoe molding, quarter rounds etc. it’s wallpapering. it’s wallpaper removal. it’s installing floors. its re-finishing floors. it’s building decks, fences, patios. it’s carpentry. it’s welding. it’s ripping off all the shingles of a black roof on a 100 degree summer day. it’s tuckpointing. it’s stucco-ing.

 

the list goes on.

 

in my case its painting.

 

not painting pictures.

 

it’s painting the interior and exterior of homes.

 

not being a designer.

it’s scraping and it’s sanding and more scraping and more sanding…

it’s caulking, puttying, priming, patching, and two top coats of benjamin-moore-ing.

it’s being on a 40 foot ladder. its breathing in dry wall dust for 12 hours at a time.

 

it’s doing the work- some of it which is listed above- and running a company that is dominated by mostly middle aged men.

 

 

but today is a holiday and so i am comfortably dressed in one of my favorite items of clothing and am going to spend the time baking cookies instead.

 

 

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