Life in the World of a Third Waver (Episode 1: The Office Gulag)

(This is the first episode of a fictional series, meant to examine how Third Wavers see the world from their perspective.  For fact-based topics, see other parts of this site.)

To whomever may be reading this, I’ve decided to start this blog as a way of chronicling my ongoing experiences under the patriarchal oppression, for as long as I am free and able to do so.  My hopes are to document these events so that another generation, perhaps somewhere in the distant future, finally free from the chains of tyranny and sexism, may look back in wonder of how things were in the days when men still existed.  And perhaps if the male species does still exist during that time, it will strengthen the resolve of our granddaughters to never allow such a thing to happen to womankind again.

Our situation has been extremely well documented so far, especially by our sisters-in-arms, like Anita Sarkesian and Laci Green.  Men rule absolutely everything, as they feel they are entitled to our bodies and to our very lives.  We have virtually no say – much less any actual representation – in what happens to us.  My efforts now are focused mostly on survival.

I woke up this morning in my condominium to the sound of my espresso machine, making a cup that will be one of the very few joys throughout my day.  My pitifully obsolete plasma TV shows me images of the male-run world.  I see male news journalists, male politicians, and male CEOs.  And how quaint – a male CEO is now also becoming a male politician.  I didn’t know it was possible for things to get any darker than they already were.

I arrived at the office, and immediately noticed just how cold it was. In fact, every day it seems it’s a bit colder than it was the day before! I’m starting to bring a jacket and hoodie to work, just so I don’t freeze to death. Then I came across an article online that explained it wasn’t just me – men really are using the air condition as part of their War on Women.  They’re clearly trying to force us out of the workplace, and back into the kitchen, where they think we belong.

I bundled up over my keyboard, and tried my best to just keep typing.  They expect me to type no less than 2 full page reports a day, 500 characters each, and for only 8,000 a month.  And now I must do this in the bitter cold.

I look up at the thermostat, located only a few feet away from my desk.  It hangs there as yet another symbol of patriarchal oppression.  It mocks me, as I shiver and try to finish my work.

One day, we will be free.