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Archive for May, 2007

“Ah yes, they are all eunuchs. They are sick. You should not read about them.”

I was car shopping and fatefully landed at the car dealership from hell. I should have known.  The place looked…felt seedy from the outset   But then again, what better place to find the car of my dreams for a thousand dollars.  Oh sure, I could have bought a $30,000 Lexus, but on this particular morn, I was without funny money.  So I went slumming.  I am comfortable with that.  I go to thrift stores and look for the bargain rack.  I ain’t proud or middle class.   I am a 56 year old transexual.   You know… poor.

In the desolation of a pebble-strewn, forlorn, bombed out third world looking automobile dealership, I was greeted by a squat middle aged salesman with sagging jowls and an East Indian accent. The woman in me felt sad for him.  Of all the car sales jobs in the world, he ended up here in Mad Max’s Thunderdome, the last stop for used cars before being  ignominiously crushed and hopefully reborn as a Vespa or something.  I pitied him and his desolate piles of scorned metal.  For five minutes.

Eventually though, I had to do it. Compelled by the sort of inquisitive, international sort of Trans that I am…aspiring always to learn about the places and people I can’t afford to visit, I tend to grab the nearest foreign born person and pummel them into a coma with endless enthusiastic questions about “What’s it like there?”  So it only seemed natural to my happily aberrant personality that I ask this pudgy little man about the hijra of India. 

“The what, miss?” he asked, scrunching up his face like a twisted little gnome.

The hijra. You know…”

Illumination dawned slowly.  “Oh yes, those people. They are sick. They are a nuisance.  They are always poor so they go to peoples’s houses and bother them until they get food or money.  No, they are not good people, ma’am.  You must avoid them at all cost.”

Sometimes irony is funny. Indeed dark humor is irony’s sidekick.  But this was a lot of irony, even for me.  I had begun the conversation with the most innocent desire to be enlightened.  But evil fate took hold and threw my intention out the window.  Stuck between the forces of pacifism and righteous Transexual “Angel of Death” retribution, I sat impassively during his virulent sexist, monologue.  I was torn between laughing out loud at his stupid exhibition of cultural bigotry, weeping in ecstatic gratitude at his unknowing acceptance of me as a “real” woman, or the most appealing option of delivering an ever so satisfying ‘Dim Mak’, also known as the death touch in martial arts circles.

Instead, I just said Namaste and left. A pacifist with a keen sense of irony. That’s me.

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The Vacuum « The Radical Humanist

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