Pink Tinted Glasses

The ominous cloud of layoffs finally burst and a downpour of acid rain washed away the debris to reveal a shinier bottomline. With her colleague, friend and lunch buddy gone, The CoHo gobbled up her insipid lunch alone in her cube, hunched over the computer guillotine waiting for the blade to drop.

The CoHo was summoned for her hearing and she marched in determined to make a McCainously graceul exit. Strangely enough, she was saddled with free-flowing praise with a subtle reminder that since the slave count had been reduced, they expect more from the lucky ones that remained.

It made no sense, those lies. After all, chewing one’s fingernails and twiddling one’s thumbs couldn’t possibly pass off as professional excellence. The numbers were off and any ol’ fool could tell that doom was lurking around the corner. Perhaps she would get to be home with her Nibbles after all.

Bytes Not Bites

The CoHo donned her habitual scowl as she made herself some milkless tea. Why was it that all those e-mails related to organizing food for a group event had to be sent by women? And no, these weren’t the (exclusively) female admins on the floor – these were women on her team. Tech chicks.

So this is probably why those feminists of yesteryear that had to choose career over family are so pissed off (hot flushes can’t help either). Here she was, consciously trying to mute her nurturing instincts and put on her best ass-kickin’ programmer face, and there was Miss Banana Republic, diligently surveying downtown lunch specials while the boys attacked nasty system bugs. And no, she’s really not interested in the “women are much better communicators and managers” argument. What self-respecting programmer would work for someone that can’t dive into a quicksand of code? (Ok, what self-respecting person would work for someone else – but what is a CoHo, if not a Corporate Whore?)

The CoHo had to leave her Nibbles at backup daycare for the second time today and running away to her cube in the midst of his heart-crunching separation anxiety episode better be justified. You know, the guilt trip of how the working mom decision was not just The CoHo’s to make - she was essentially deciding the fate of rest of her doubly Xed chromosomed colleagues? Really, this whole feminist cause can be a pimple on life’s butt (TM an old pal).

So geek sister, until that glorious day when women do not need to be twice as good to prove that they are half as good, you’ve made my battle in this testosteroned space akin to lifelong abstinence from chocolate i.e. hopeless.