I’m quitting my job today. I’m quitting because of an inappropriate text message my manager sent to me on Valentine’s Day. This is not the first time my manager has conducted himself in an inappropriate manner. This is not even the first time I have left a restaurant job because of a manager conducting him or herself inappropriately.

On Valentine's Day, Gothamist posted a report on gender inequity in the service industry. Reading through it was not a comfort to me. It has been my experience that working at a restaurant entails taking a lot of shit. It is highly conducive to, and rife with, sexual harassment. There is close contact, touching, lewd gestures. Much of this is entirely welcome and fun and a way to release stress. Some of this is unwelcome but innocuous enough to put up with. And then there are the moments when a line is crossed, when taking shit is no longer an option.

The day before Valentine’s Day, Roxane Gay posted a great piece in the Rumpus directed toward women who had tweeted their willingness to be beaten by Chris Brown. The day before that, Fox News contributor Liz Trotta made several highly offensive remarks on the air, regarding the increase in sexual assaults on women in the military. Also on Sunday was the arrest of Marston Hefner for allegedly assaulting his girlfriend, PlayboyPlaymate of the Year Claire Sinclair. This has not been a good week.

I worked at a Denny’s when I was in high school. One day one of our bussers pressed his palm against the grill and held it there. He told me later that he did this "porque no me quiero," or, because I didn’t want him. I was seventeen. I was reminded of this incident while reading about a 19th-century Taiwanese custom: suitors would present potential partners with severed heads.

Part of me wants a severed head. There is a part of me that wants to seek out male protection in the form of violent retribution and physical intimidation. I understand that in no way should I have to be the one to quit my job because of someone else’s behavior. But I am choosing to leave.

It is perhaps this decision to leave instead of fighting that is prompting me to write this post. I get to be in control of how I personally deal with this situation, and I find it too stupid for me to make a stink about. I’m drawing the line. That’s what I can do. However, there are too many people taking too much shit. Too many people are taking too much shit every day. What I’ve read this week makes me feel as though there might be a whole lot of people who don’t know where the line is. Please be advised.

Image: blogcatalog.com

The show Toddlers and Tiaras, now in its fourth season on The Learning Channel, has caused some interesting gender and class policing lately, including a humiliating episode for the mothers on Anderson Cooper’s talk show. As the famous toddler Mackenzie Myers has put it, “I can never just be myselffffffffffffffff.” A radical take on the unending project of gender performance? A comment on the fall of monarchial forms of rule? A goblet whose reflection schizzes us even as we occupy the center of our own portrait? 

“A child is a child you might say and if the lense [sic] through which a child is being looked at is not broken, then there’s nothing bad in what is just a huge dress-up game. Unfortunately, this is just a cognitive distortion called rationalization, through which you find a reason that somehow justifies an action, thought or behavior that is actually “not right.” And this beautiful lie gets you just as much as it gets the child.”

–Psychologist Lucia Grosaru on the perils of Child Beauty Pageants,Toddlers and Tiaras, 2011.

“The princess is standing upright in the centre of a St Andrew’s cross, which is revolving around her with its eddies of courtiers, maids of honour, animals, and fools. But this pivoting movement is frozen. Frozen by a spectacle that would be absolutely invisible if those same characters, suddenly motionless, were not offering us, as though in the hollow of a goblet, the possibility of seeing in the depths of a mirror the unforeseen double of what they are observing. In depth, it is the princess who is superimposed on the mirror…”

–Michel Foucault, “Las Meninas,” a reading of Diego Velázquez's painting "Las Meninas" in The Order of Things, 1966.

“She had betrayed no distaste for the game. The other girls crowded to see his defeat, to see his idiot’s composure dissolve, and then rushed to wipe themselves clean of his ejaculation…Every Midsummer morning, Mother woke her before dawn and ordered her to kneel down and bathe her face in the dew; it ensures a year’s worth of loveliness, she explained. As a child, Mother had performed the same ritual. When Madeleine wiped M. Jouy off her hands, she left glistening mollusk trails in the underbrush.”

–Sarah Shun-lien Bynum, Madeleine is Sleeping, National Book Award Finalist, 2004. Bynum based her dream-like novel on an episode in Foucault's History of Sexuality. 

Let Me Recite What History Teaches (LMRWHT) is a weekly column that flashes the lavalamp, gaslight, candlelight, campfire, torch, sometimes even the starlight of the past on something that is happening now. The form of the column strives to recover what might be best about the “wide-eyed presentation of mere facts.” Each week you will find here some citational constellation, offered with astonishment and without comment, that can serve as an end in itself, dinner party fodder, or an occasion for further thought or writing. The title is taken from the last line of Stein’s poem “If I Told Him (A Completed Portrait of Picasso)."

Image: Las Meninas, Diego Velázquez