I Change My Shirt

Because you don't know who's coming through that door.

I change my shirt before workers come to my house.

No, not like that. Don’t cue the music.

“Hello there. Are you here to fix the toilet?”

I mean that if I’m wearing a t-shirt with a rainbow on it, or a shirt that mentions something absolutely bonkers like women having rights, I change to something neutral.

Rainbows out. Plain blue in.

Women’s rights back in the drawer for now. (I hear that’s the new slogan for the state of Indiana but I digress.)

And I don some nondescript I-could-be-anybody t-shirt. (Okay, maybe not anybody. I do have very short hair.)

I’m not sure what AI did here but hey let’s go with it. Me and my headless twin are ready for the plumber.

What Am I Doing?

I’m making myself more likable in case the tradesperson is a bigot.

Because I want work done right more than I want to express myself in a home-repair moment. So I try to blend in — to hide just a bit. And it doesn’t ever feel good. No matter how many times I do it, I feel weird, like I’ve lost before I started.

Sad kitty time. Even if kitties don’t wear t-shirts … usually.

It Doesn’t Feel Like Freedom

Is this giving in? I don’t know. I think of it more like making the best of a bad and frequent situation in America.

Because the land of the free often seems free only for white heterosexual Christian males.

The rest of us pay.

And I don’t want to pay too much or receive inferior work because some (usually white male) tradesperson doesn’t like my t-shirt. So I change my shirt.

But I don’t feel good doing it.

Debating the Plumber

But this week, my plumber was here.

I genuinely like him, even though he’s a Republican who considers himself educated via YouTube. We get into discussions (from bidets to Presidents) and it’s never at my urging (he loves to talk while his son does most of the physical work). But I always hold back. I figure he’s got the upper hand because I want good work, not half-assed work.

Then, it occurred to me that I might be wrong.

“WHAAAAAAT? Lisbeth, what is happening?”

And maybe my plumber is thinking the same thing that I am, in those shirt moments.

Maybe he prepares to knock on my door while thinking, “I’m going to do work again for this gay woman but I’m going to hold back a little when we chat because if I’m too honest about what I think, she’s not going to hire me back. She pays the money so she holds the power in this relationship.”

Hmmm.

Maybe we’re both holding back.

And Maybe That’s Okay

Maybe what’s happening in these moments is not me giving in or him giving in — but merely two Americans with different viewpoints having a conversation.

And maybe we should do more of this, not less.

Maybe changing my shirt is not hiding. Maybe I can think of my neutral shirt as offering a moment of pause … and thereby presenting an opportunity for a conversation, not a stance across a divide.

And the truth is that what anybody wears on their body is way less important than what’s in their heart.

Or maybe I’m tired. Maybe we are all so tired in America.

But I do appreciate good plumbing. And I’m going to keep on believing.

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What do you think? Do you ever change your shirt before workers come to your house or you take your car in for servicing?

Bonus read: A Mel Brooks twist on saying yes and still doing what you want.