Well congrats for sticking with my rambling story. It has has whizzed about a bit in the last few chapters. I really wish I had thought more about a structure, with some sort of surprise reveal. Perhaps the final chapter could end up with me confessing to be the real Keyser Soze or something. Sadly I think this tale will end up just petering out in a rambling mess of asides (such as this one) I think I would benefit from a kermodian (I'm doing my bit to get it into the dictionary!) critique of my writing style. So where in my ever shifting timeline had I reached?
If my memory serves me at all, I had got to the point where, had completed my first few weeks as a working woman. The first flush of euphoria was over. The weeks soon turned into months. It was now Spring 2006 and the honeymoon period with my work life partners had gone relatively well. Though like many newlyweds the amount of sex never quite lived up to expectations. Looking back now I wish I had taken move care about my transition rather than just blundering into it like an elephant in heels. I realise looking back over this period I did make some fundamental rookie mistakes.
The first mistake revolved around was my chosen name. I have said before that I hadn't given my new new name more than a moments ponder. I just went for something phonetically close to my old redundant male one. There was no real logic far this but once chosen felt toothed to change again. I don't regret the name itself. I think Jenny sort of suits me The big mistake was that I asked collages and friends to "just call me Jen" That was what I had ended up being called by my friends, so it felt comfortable and accepting that everyone used this (insert) The problem that soon became apparent was that Jen was too close to Geoff As soon as the Je sound left someone's lips then their brain just followed, with unconscious thought, the finishing Eff sound. It I had said from the beginning call me Jenny then perhaps the incidents of "Jeffs" would have been fewer. Who knows, perhaps I should hare chosen a name that could never be confused such as Delilah or Rapunzell !!!
The second regretted mistake, was not to late myself seriously enough. I've said before that I often used humour to put people at ease. For instance, I made fun out of my homemade Rice' n' Tights breast-forms. This was fine at first, but months down the line, and they were still being referred to as the "Uncle Ben's" I started to regret my levity. It just didn't help everyone lose those thoughts that was still a man pretending to be a woman.
The third was that I totally underestimated hour much time was needed to prepare myself for a working day. If everything went to plan I uses five, but it only took a mistimed sneered to smear mascara goo all over my painstakingly applied makeup, setting me back half an hour. Similarly laddering three consecutive pairs of tine cost ill afforded minutes, not to speak of expense! I was never more regularly late for work than this period of my life. Actually thinking now I have been more tardy, and that was when I lived in the Nurses Home at my place of work Stallington Hospital (aside alert!!!). I have figured that my promptness for work is indirectly proportionate (or is it directly?) to the distance I lived away. Ergo the nearer I was, the later I was. The only explanation I could think of was that when I lived on site, work is only a couple of minutes away so lets have another 5 in bed.
Other Rookie Schoolgirl Errors from the first couple of months: Unwearable high heels, doh!Peep toe shoes/ tan tights, doh! Black trousers just that vital inch too short, double doh! and White blouse / Black bra debacle, double doh!
Still all things considered my transition went really well, better than expectations (if I'd had any). I still count myself lucky that I work in such an accepting liberal working environment, I can't imagine how tough it must be to transition in a male dominated workplace, such as the building trade for instance. That is not to say I didn't have the odd hiccup. I remember once when I corrected a colleague on referring to me as he, the response came back "At least I didn't call you It".
It was during this time that I suffered my only incident of street level abuse. Now of course I'd witnessed the odd titter and occasional snigger, and on one occasion a car full of neanderthal unevolved testosterone heckled me, but to be honest their grunty shouts were barely distinguishable as English. These were thankfully rare occurrences that have almost slipped from memory. The one incident that does persist was a day shopping in Longton (one of the famous 5 towns described by Arnold Bennett. Bad luck Fenton!). I was sat on a bench in the spring sun, staring blankly at my mobile thinking of somebody to text when a wet splat hit my right cheek. Looking up I just saw 2 teen aged lads riding past, one of whom shouted "scum of the earth" at me". I was so taken aback I wasn't sure what had happened. Slowly a dawning realisation was that these 2 cycling Asbos in waiting, had spat at me before yelling their witty retort! To be honest I was too shocked to be as upset as I should have been, but the incident is now indelibly inked on my mind.
Anyway enough of the dark side of a life in transition. I know everyone really wants me to get back those stories of my own folly (ie falling down and all that!). Well I have another example of How Not To Pass.
Well, I bored one day I decided to make a solo trip to the Flicks. I was by then pretty cocky about my ability to pass while out and about. After all I was now a working Girl. I plumped for a visit to the Warner Brothers Cinema in Newcastle under Lyme, mainly because they had more comfy (wide) seats. I cant fully recall the film I saw. I wish I could say it was a deep foreign art house opus, but it was actually one of the Harry Potter films. Leaving the cinema I first had to pay for my parking ticket at the machine, just inside the foyer. Duly done, I made my way via the lift to the multi storey car park beneath. Driving down the two levels to the barriered exit, I pulled up to insert my paid up ticket into the barrier machinery, but of course I had now lost it. Somewhere between the foyer and this barrier I had secreted my ticket but couldn't for the life of me remember. After a good 10 minutes of frantic rummaging I abandoned all hope of exit and reluctantly reparked my car. I needed another ticket which was only supplied on entry to the car park. So, I made my way back to the Paystation in the foyer.
When I got there there was a newly formed queue of cinema goers waiting to validate their parking tickets. The machine had a sign saying Press here For Assistance. I pressed the button and a voice boomed out of the speaker situated adjacent "Can I help you?". I looked up at the queue of impatient car parkers who up to this time had taken little notice of the suspiciously tall woman in their midst. "Ive lost my ticket" I spoke softly into the mic, not wanting to draw any more attention. "Sorry you will have to speak up", came the response. "I've lost my ticket" I replied at fuller volume. "I will be with you in a couple of minutes SIR" came the answer even louder out of the machine. By now the whole queue was either staring at me or whispering to each other about me. Either way any semblance of passing had gone. Right then I could have used Harry Potter's invisibility cloak. I then had to stand there in solitary uncomfort as I waited for the Parking attendant, as the queue filed past, the more discrete of which at least attempted to hide their sniggers. Eventually a rather bemused man in a security uniform arrived looking for a man who had lost his ticket. I caught his attention and confessed it was me he was seeking. I made sure I kept hold of my ticket all the way to the barrier. Sometimes you just have to shrug and accept that however well you think you are doing the world will find a way of of bringing you down to earth.
If my memory serves me at all, I had got to the point where, had completed my first few weeks as a working woman. The first flush of euphoria was over. The weeks soon turned into months. It was now Spring 2006 and the honeymoon period with my work life partners had gone relatively well. Though like many newlyweds the amount of sex never quite lived up to expectations. Looking back now I wish I had taken move care about my transition rather than just blundering into it like an elephant in heels. I realise looking back over this period I did make some fundamental rookie mistakes.
The first mistake revolved around was my chosen name. I have said before that I hadn't given my new new name more than a moments ponder. I just went for something phonetically close to my old redundant male one. There was no real logic far this but once chosen felt toothed to change again. I don't regret the name itself. I think Jenny sort of suits me The big mistake was that I asked collages and friends to "just call me Jen" That was what I had ended up being called by my friends, so it felt comfortable and accepting that everyone used this (insert) The problem that soon became apparent was that Jen was too close to Geoff As soon as the Je sound left someone's lips then their brain just followed, with unconscious thought, the finishing Eff sound. It I had said from the beginning call me Jenny then perhaps the incidents of "Jeffs" would have been fewer. Who knows, perhaps I should hare chosen a name that could never be confused such as Delilah or Rapunzell !!!
The second regretted mistake, was not to late myself seriously enough. I've said before that I often used humour to put people at ease. For instance, I made fun out of my homemade Rice' n' Tights breast-forms. This was fine at first, but months down the line, and they were still being referred to as the "Uncle Ben's" I started to regret my levity. It just didn't help everyone lose those thoughts that was still a man pretending to be a woman.
The third was that I totally underestimated hour much time was needed to prepare myself for a working day. If everything went to plan I uses five, but it only took a mistimed sneered to smear mascara goo all over my painstakingly applied makeup, setting me back half an hour. Similarly laddering three consecutive pairs of tine cost ill afforded minutes, not to speak of expense! I was never more regularly late for work than this period of my life. Actually thinking now I have been more tardy, and that was when I lived in the Nurses Home at my place of work Stallington Hospital (aside alert!!!). I have figured that my promptness for work is indirectly proportionate (or is it directly?) to the distance I lived away. Ergo the nearer I was, the later I was. The only explanation I could think of was that when I lived on site, work is only a couple of minutes away so lets have another 5 in bed.
Other Rookie Schoolgirl Errors from the first couple of months: Unwearable high heels, doh!Peep toe shoes/ tan tights, doh! Black trousers just that vital inch too short, double doh! and White blouse / Black bra debacle, double doh!
Still all things considered my transition went really well, better than expectations (if I'd had any). I still count myself lucky that I work in such an accepting liberal working environment, I can't imagine how tough it must be to transition in a male dominated workplace, such as the building trade for instance. That is not to say I didn't have the odd hiccup. I remember once when I corrected a colleague on referring to me as he, the response came back "At least I didn't call you It".
It was during this time that I suffered my only incident of street level abuse. Now of course I'd witnessed the odd titter and occasional snigger, and on one occasion a car full of neanderthal unevolved testosterone heckled me, but to be honest their grunty shouts were barely distinguishable as English. These were thankfully rare occurrences that have almost slipped from memory. The one incident that does persist was a day shopping in Longton (one of the famous 5 towns described by Arnold Bennett. Bad luck Fenton!). I was sat on a bench in the spring sun, staring blankly at my mobile thinking of somebody to text when a wet splat hit my right cheek. Looking up I just saw 2 teen aged lads riding past, one of whom shouted "scum of the earth" at me". I was so taken aback I wasn't sure what had happened. Slowly a dawning realisation was that these 2 cycling Asbos in waiting, had spat at me before yelling their witty retort! To be honest I was too shocked to be as upset as I should have been, but the incident is now indelibly inked on my mind.
Anyway enough of the dark side of a life in transition. I know everyone really wants me to get back those stories of my own folly (ie falling down and all that!). Well I have another example of How Not To Pass.
Well, I bored one day I decided to make a solo trip to the Flicks. I was by then pretty cocky about my ability to pass while out and about. After all I was now a working Girl. I plumped for a visit to the Warner Brothers Cinema in Newcastle under Lyme, mainly because they had more comfy (wide) seats. I cant fully recall the film I saw. I wish I could say it was a deep foreign art house opus, but it was actually one of the Harry Potter films. Leaving the cinema I first had to pay for my parking ticket at the machine, just inside the foyer. Duly done, I made my way via the lift to the multi storey car park beneath. Driving down the two levels to the barriered exit, I pulled up to insert my paid up ticket into the barrier machinery, but of course I had now lost it. Somewhere between the foyer and this barrier I had secreted my ticket but couldn't for the life of me remember. After a good 10 minutes of frantic rummaging I abandoned all hope of exit and reluctantly reparked my car. I needed another ticket which was only supplied on entry to the car park. So, I made my way back to the Paystation in the foyer.
When I got there there was a newly formed queue of cinema goers waiting to validate their parking tickets. The machine had a sign saying Press here For Assistance. I pressed the button and a voice boomed out of the speaker situated adjacent "Can I help you?". I looked up at the queue of impatient car parkers who up to this time had taken little notice of the suspiciously tall woman in their midst. "Ive lost my ticket" I spoke softly into the mic, not wanting to draw any more attention. "Sorry you will have to speak up", came the response. "I've lost my ticket" I replied at fuller volume. "I will be with you in a couple of minutes SIR" came the answer even louder out of the machine. By now the whole queue was either staring at me or whispering to each other about me. Either way any semblance of passing had gone. Right then I could have used Harry Potter's invisibility cloak. I then had to stand there in solitary uncomfort as I waited for the Parking attendant, as the queue filed past, the more discrete of which at least attempted to hide their sniggers. Eventually a rather bemused man in a security uniform arrived looking for a man who had lost his ticket. I caught his attention and confessed it was me he was seeking. I made sure I kept hold of my ticket all the way to the barrier. Sometimes you just have to shrug and accept that however well you think you are doing the world will find a way of of bringing you down to earth.
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