MONOLOGUE

“Give us a smile! It’s not that bad!”

“Smile, sweetheart!”

“Let me see that smile!”

I hear this at least once a week.

I am sick to death of men telling me to smile.

I am not a model. I am not a flight attendant. I am not a receptionist, a waitress, or a concierge.

A smile is not part of my job description.

It is not a part of my uniform.

There are a variety of positions where smiling is indeed  part of job, but my current position is not one of them.

And you know what I don’t see, ever? A man, or even a woman for that matter, telling a man to smile.

“Smile, sir!” is not a sentence I can remember hearing outside of an official photography session.

Nope, it’s just the ladies who are expected to be happy as our heads hit the glass ceiling and we’re asked if we really want that letter of recommendation because we’re “young and might want to stop working and start a family.”

I wish I was kidding.

Surely we have so much to smile about.

I should be allowed to walk down the hallway without a man trying to dictate my mood.

Can’t a girl just be somber sometimes? Can’t I feel morose or distracted on my way to the restroom? Can I not contemplate great injustices as I join the lunch line?

I’m so tired of these men who think that because they have a penis they are able to comment on how my face looks at any time.

I have never had a woman tell me to smile in my place of employment. If anything, they might ask me if there’s something wrong. Did something happen? Am I ok? Why do I look so sad?  (Usually I have to tell them “no, this is just how my face looks.”)

The men though? They just TELL ME to smile.

And you know what enrages me more?

I USUALLY DO!

It’s a reflex. It’s learned behavior. A relative stranger says smile and you just can’t help it. I think it’s groomed into us over the course of a dozen years of school pictures.

So I smile.

And I seethe.

And I continue to search for the perfect response.

One that gets my point across without getting me fired.

Any suggestions?