Boss Lady: Gender roles and the workplace

Odd I should decide to write about workplace issues since I currently have no workplace, but there’s a scenario that I’m seeing crop up time and again that is bothering me. And I’m due for a rant. It’s happened to me in the past and now it’s happening to my friend Jane* for like the tenth time.

So picture this: A female manager informs her male boss that her staff (all boys) are not performing up to par, not showing up on time or are pulling sickies, not doing the work as they should, etc, and tells him that she has reprimanded them for it. The male boss then tells the woman that she is being too tough on the lads; basically that she is a big old meanie. The “lads” all grumble and complain that she is on the warpath or is being a bitch.

(nothing to do with this story but possibly a stocking stuffer for Jane)

If the exact same situation played out but everyone involved was male, I maintain that there would be no hubbub at all. The big boss would have told the manager to make sure they get the job done and the staff members would have accepted that they need to be more conscientious.

When this happened to me, the misbehaving staff was actually an outside company so I had little option but to constantly complain to them that they were not living up to their end of the contract (and yes, eventually I was finally allowed to sack them). When they let me down really badly just before a big project was supposed to go live, I let my frustration show to my (male) boss who reacted – not with indignation that we were being treated so badly by people we were paying to do a job, not with sympathy for the impossible situation I was put in, not with anger that the project was in trouble, but by telling me I was too hard on the poor guy. My own staff (all girls) who had been working flat out to get our end of things done on time were outraged at his response; we had stupidly expected him to back us up!

So what I want to know is why do the boys all stick together? Even in this kind of situation, where it’s in the boss’s interest to back up the manager and insist that the work gets done?

Apparently women (all women, even the butch gay ones, yeah I’m looking at you Jane) are supposed to “nurture” and support and coddle any and all men they come accross. For example, if the boys aren’t doing their work, just do it for them and tut tut in a mild way so that they know you don’t really mind. If somebody is running right over you, taking advantage of your good nature and easy going approach, you might as well just give up because standing up for yourself will upset the guy or at the very least cause him the inconvenience of having to deliver on the deal. And if you aren’t prepared to spend all your time and energy doing your job and HIS job (while he probably gets paid more) then YOU my friend, are a mean old BITCH!

Now’s the part where we find a way to lay the responsibility for this problem right back on women – it’s clearly down to the way we are raised so I blame the mothers! I’d also like to work Ireland and religion in at this point since when complaining I find it soothes me to make sure those things share in the guilt, so make that Irish Mothers and we’ll let the Irish bit imply the religion...

Here’s a joke that pretty much sums it up.

Q: How do we know Jesus was Irish?

A: Because he was 33 and still lived at home, thought his mother was a
virgin, and she thought he was God.

So until mothers (and fathers and everyone else ... I know it’s not really just the mothers at fault, it's society and our cultural norms yadda yadda ) stop raising their sons to be lazy bastards who expect the women in their lives, even their bosses, to do everything for them, then we’ll have to keep being nasty old bitches. Fine, it’s kinda fun. (Well, for some people. I nearly had a nervous breakdown from having to be so “mean” because I too have been conditioned to be nice all the time).

But what’s no fun is when your own boss doesn’t do his job and back you up. That’s not cool, man. Better be glad you have the Jane’s of the world watching the bottom line if you are not! Would you be a tougher boss if you didn’t have Jane to do your dirty work?

*most certainly not her real name.

Whino Rhino Festival Review: Part 2

And now for something completely different. The Table

All I knew about this show was that is was music made using a table. And sure enough, when we entered the Baby Grand at the Opera House, all there was in the black curtained room was a table and four chairs in the middle. The audience sat all around. (Is it theatre in the round if the table is square?)

Four men dressed in black entered and sat down. And then they played the table.

My friend was bummed that the table in question turned out to be modified with strings, percussive panels, and even a didgeridoo type blow hole. They used other bits and pieces like bells, water glasses, a straw (to blow bubbles of course), an egg timer, and even razor blades to scrape and twang.

Frankly I was glad because I was getting worried I was going to have to listen to actual table banging for an hour. Even though I could have done without the sound of the drawer handle being used as a repetitive squeak noise, they did make some really interesting sounds that I guess you only get with a really good table.

The effect was, well, kinda trippy. Consensus afterwards was that we would have liked it better if we were stoned. They only had one “fast” number and I was hoping for a bit more audience participation. I wanna clap and make noise too! Although some of it was intentionally humorous, (they did a version of Walk on the Wild Side) I think they took themselves too seriously for four guys who play a table. I mean at the end, they lit a candle, sailed an origami boat over to it, and then got up to leave the room one by one. Avant-garde or just poseur –y?

My verdict? Ikea has one for $49.99. Go crazy.

Whino Rhino Festival Review: Part 1

Its fall festival season here in Belfast, a marvellous time of year for new woolly tights and unusual cultural offerings. Because I’m “connected”, in the know, have friends in high places, I have scored a random sampling of tickets to the Belfast Festival. Or to give it it’s full name, as I am prone to do when listening to the sound of my own voice, the Belfast Festival at Queens (although none of the stuff is at Queens) – no wait it’s longer than that now its the Ulster Bank Belfast Festival at Queens (none of the stuff is at the bank either).

I’m going to 5 events which I plan to tell you all about, because frankly you could use a bit of culture.

First up: To Be Straight with You.

I didn’t know a lot about this going in, just that it was “A poetic and unflinching exploration of tolerance, intolerance, religion and sexuality, [incorporating] dance, text, documentary, animation and film.” So basically I was prepared for gay folks dancing around and talking about discrimination, but WOW. This was something else altogether.

Using the simple first person real life narratives gathered from interviewing a range of people in the UK, Lloyd Newson has put together a performance like I’ve never seen anywhere before. It mainly focused on the way that religion is used to justify homophobia and how odd it is that religious and ethnic minorities in the UK, who often have first hand experience of racial and ethnic abuse and hatred are so willing to turn around and inflict abuse on another minority. It reminded us of the stark facts of the situation on the ground for gay people around the world using a giant globe made of light that hovered mid-air and could be “drawn” on by the actor standing inside spinning it. There was a lot going on, lots of different stories, situations, and characters who had told their stories to DV8’s researchers.

Image from The Guardian

A really memorable bit was the story of a 15 year old Muslim boy beaten up by his father and brother for being gay. He tells the entire story while jumping rope. Turns out this actor is some kind of jump rope champion but damn – it was like a 10 minute monologue while skipping!

On a purely artistic front, it was visually amazing, the dance moves were incredible (my favourite was the Shakira number), the use of various media including a life size comic strip with live characters, the different accents, the chalk board that was added to throughout...too much to try to explain! If you get the chance – and this show is now on tour internationally – I would definitely recommend it.

After the performance there was a panel discussion with the director, a Muslim psychiatrist living in Belfast, Peter Tachell, an ex-gay ministry guy, and a community activist. A spirited discussion ensued during which I learned that the pope is gay. Makes perfect sense, the big old internalised homophobe! No one on the panel walked away with a dramatically changed viewpoint, but it was a nice idea that they sat down and discussed some of the issues raised rather than casting stones...

Audio from the panel discussion here.

One thing that came through loud and clear from the audience was how embarrassed they were that our very own MP Iris Robinson, well-known for her outspoken views on the “abomination” that she thinks is homosexuality, had a part in the play through the words of the young gay man whose attack prompted her now famous comments on the Stephen Nolan show. (She was invited to attend the performance but declined due to other commitments apparently). Local people were sad that this is the view of Northern Ireland that will be exported to the world as this show goes on tour. But hopefully it demonstrated the link between hate speech couched in religion, even in a country like ours where homosexuality is legal, and the accepted violence and murder of gay people in other places and will encourage Stangford not to re-elect her!

Next up: "The Table"

WhinoRhino Restaurant Review: Cracow City

Best kept secret in Belfast? Cracow City Polish Restaurant! Where else can you eat (more than) your fill, experiment with beets, and muse over interesting but as yet unidentified table chotchkies for less than a tenner each?

Picture nicked from http://anotherworldradio.files.wordpress.com/2008/07/mayjune08-064.jpg

Nowhere in Belfast that I know about! And even though they don’t have a liquor license, the WRPS can whole-heartedly recommend Cracow City in East Belfast. (Bring your own, you lush.) I was there last night with a group of 12 and am still full of dumplings. I admit I was somewhat hesitant at first, because it required me to cross the Lagan, but you don’t find these neighbourhood gems without going into the neighbourhoods, eh? And it was Sarah’s* birthday so I go where I’m told.

Anyway, the place closes at like 8pm, or some such craziness, so we were there for a 6:30 booking. I don’t know if they normally get mostly ex-pat Poles in there (the menu is in Polish with minimal English translation), but last night they pretty much got the United Nations in our eclectic grouping. Between the lot of us, I think we ordered pretty much everything left on the menu - they were already sold out of a lot of stuff that day.

Big hits included the fried cheese (that’s a no brainer,eh?), the goulash with dumplings, and a hock of pork that was so big it went ‘round the table twice to finally finish it off. The side salads & soups (best Polish word on the menu - “zoupy”) were also really simple but yummy. I had the carrot and apple salad and also tried someone’s beet soup even though I hate beets. Surprisingly, it wasn’t bad! Oh and instead of just a bread basket on the table, you also get rolled ham slices with a herby mayo sauce for pre-starters – why not!

The staff were really friendly and very quite accommodating seeing as we took up most of the ground floor, brought our own birthday cake for desert, and did loud poetry/performance art in Portuguese between courses. Conversation did not have a chance to lag either, because the decor of the place has plenty to remark on. On the table there were even tourist guides to Krackow just in case the dinning experience so compels you to book a trip. There was also this item:

It's handmade of clay, painted or stained in streaks (on purpose or not I don’t know) with a pinkish colouring and it’s hollow on the inside. I still really think it looks like a penguin with some bottle-nosed dolphin dominant genes in its family tree. Other people had their theories. It was clearly something that someone thought was centrepiece material but really had us wondering...

All in all, Cracow City was tasty, rediculously inexpensive, and interesting enough to provide ample dinner conversation for a mish-mashed grouping of people who don’t all know each other. And that is dinner party success in my book.**

* Yes, it’s that Sarah – of You Tube fame! (Didn’t think I’d forget that revelation, did you? Ach, now I can’t find the link...)

** I reccomend bringing your own Brazilian performance artist.

Unidentified Vegetable Matter

What is this orange tuber-like thing?

I've asked and asked and no one knows... It seems a very fine specimen of it's kind whatever it might be.

Whinorhino gets Arty (or “How to drink for free on Thursdays”)

Although it’s true this whinorhino is getting older, wiser and about 5 times less likely to drink box wine (directly from the box anyway), in this current economic climate, I have also grown somewhat poorer and thus have a renewed interest in partying on a budget. On someone else’s budget that is.

I’ve had to make certain sacrifices in the ‘ole booze department of late, for example, I’ve had to reduce the number of wine clubs I subscribe to (down from 3 to 2.) I’ve had to acknowledge that buying in bulk from the Makro Off-Licence doesn’t really save money (because I’ve also had to buy a much larger liquor cabinet to house my gargantuan bottles and I don’t want to further alarm the recycling guys.) The situation has become quite untenable!

Never fear, the arts council is here!

Did you know about the “new initiative to encourage visitors to experience Belfast’s rich and diverse cultural life”? It’s Late Night Art “whereby many galleries in Belfast will remain open until 9pm on the first Thursday of each month.” AND SERVE FREE WINE.

That’s right cheapskates, students, and the jobless can now drink their fill and get cultured at the same time. I made the rounds last Thursday, hit five galleries, had five glasses of really cheap wine and was quite pleasantly buzzed as a result.

“But Healy”, I hear you ask, “what about the second, third and fourth Thursday’s of the month?”

Turns out once you get in with these arty types, you get invited to all sorts of openings, launches, group shows, etc. And they all, without fail, have wine for the offering! And sometimes hors d’ouvres too! Finally, I understand why one should “network”. But that makes me sound shallow and self-serving - not at all - I have really enjoyed myself at these events and it’s not just because I’ve been mixing “vintages”.

I’ve even been inspired to create art myself. See my bowl?

(Created before too much wine was drunk – and with no small amount of help from a professional - thank goodness.)

I also painted shoes! Fellow whinorhino Kerry and I were inspired by some custom high heels we saw at one of the galleries and decided to give it a go ourselves. Pictures to follow - they are still drying.

Thus inspired, I will continue in my quest to drink for (mostly) free in Belfast. Next up – Culture Night Belfast and my continuing amazing ability to get fed at other people’s houses.

Anyone for a Pimm's?

I don’t know how have I gone this long living in the UK with having had a Pimm’s! You see that annoying man on TV all summer long telling you it’s Pimm’s O’clock, but it would never have entered my mind to actually order one in a bar. It must be the Northern Irish thing because this is definitely an English drink. I first had a taste in Wales, actually, but it was served by fine upstanding Portsmouth girls so that counts as English. They had doctored their Pimms No 1 with enough gin to call it a Gin and Pimms rather than the other way around and had enough fruit in it to count as your full 5-a-day serving. I only got a wee taste because that was the same day that the Sunburn Slap was invented and you know how that turned out! (Well I’m sure you can imagine.)

(Advert near the Tate Modern, Bankside, London)

Just recently I’ve had the chance to do Pimm’s properly (and repeatedly) across southern England and can thoroughly vouch for this quintessential summer drink. It’s not only quite tasty but aesthetically pleasing to the eye - and it seems to say, “Relax, it’s a lazy summer day so you might as well get pissed – but in a refined, polite, British sort of way.” Indeed it does seem to go rather well with a certain kind of environment. First, you really must be in the afternoon sunshine, preferably at a stately home wearing a party dress with a feathery fascinator on your head to complete the picture, although a more smart-casual look at a riverfront pub or seaside bar will also do. Think Four Weddings and a Funeral.

(Pimm's Rhino on her 5th or 6th Pimm's, properly attired in fancy frock and English Country Estate)

Now that your surroundings are established and you are dressed the part, the waiter (played by a young Hugh Grant) will serve you a jug of Pimm’s. There are debates about just how this should be prepared and what fruit goes into the mix. I liked mine with cucumber decoratively cut, orange slices, strawberries and a sprig of mint. I haven’t tried it with ginger ale yet, having been served only the traditional fizzy lemonade mixer, but I suspect that would be good too. Those who think it’s too sweet will prefer it with tonic water instead so I’ll have to give that go. And if I’m making it at home, I will definitely be taking my cue from the girls who added extra gin. Of course it really does need to be a proper summer day to make you want one in the first place so I don’t know when I’ll next get the chance – maybe that’s why they never drink it in Belfast!

Burning with rage

Our local miscreants are at it again, another car went up in flames last night, this time right in front of our house.

At 3 am I was woken out of a sound sleep by the loud whooshing sound that a raging fire makes and saw the flickering light of the flames outside my window. I jumped up screaming about a fire, causing Colleen to aggravate an old back injury as she threw herself out of bed in a panic over her beloved.

“It’s not yours! It’s not your car!” I cried, trying to keep her from diving out the window. (If it had been this would be a totally different story this morning, Colleen would be dead of heart-break.)

No, it was Heather’s car, and I couldn’t even take any delight in the misfortunes of my old nemesis because it is so upsetting to see this kind of mindless destruction and violence right in front of you. I was also really quite concerned about the fire spreading to the house, the heat from the fire was making my face go red just watching from inside the window and then


BANG! BOOM!


Two really loud explosions went off and I backed the hell away from the window, heart pounding and legs shaking. Meanwhile, Colleen had called 999 and very politely requested a fire truck which arrived quite quickly and put the fire out before it got to the petrol tank.

(I dunno about you, but if I was ever to call emergency services I’d be screaming down the phone “Fire! Help! Fire!” but Colleen calmly said something like, “Yes, may I please be connected to the Fire Brigade. Thanks ever so.”)

When the cops arrived we were able to tell them whose car it was (and even remembered to use her real name instead of calling her Heather) and then asked what they were going to do about it.

Short answer: Nothing.

Long answer: Clean up the debris, have forensics look at it, make a report, request resources be allocated to investigation...but honestly, unless they actually see the little shits lighting the thing, there’s nothing they can do.

This is at least the 6th car in the immediate area that’s been burnt out and now right in front of my very own home. I am mad as hell. I thought gays moving into the area is supposed to class up the area, raise property prices and gentrify the hood! We are clearly not doing our jobs...

Thus Vigilante WhinoRhino is born. Stay tuned...