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My Brilliant Career

When I was a high school junior, Congress passed Title IX.
Hadn't a clue what it was about.  I could do anything. Even
AP math. Then our teacher got a grant for a computer -- then, a golden toy in a mere high school.
Told me and the other AP math girl that only boys could use it. You know how illogical girls are. 

Found a job as a junior copywriter after college. Was warned to hide typing skills lest I’d get only secretarial work.
Remuneration still turned out to be less than a fellow male grad. whose GPA, etc, was lower than mine,
Explanation? Women get dinners bought for them; men have to buy dinner.
So… unequal pay is fair because of dates you may never have?
Huffed off to grad school. Thought grad school thoughts. Then began life as a tech writin' corporate cog.

Helped my husband go to medical school in the deepest south. Such chivalry. Such chauvinism,  
Extraordinary –
Learned how coddled men were. As typing pools became passe, management discovered
Lots of men couldn’t type. I got paid time and a half to type their work. To restate:

I had to do my technical, skilled work for what a woman made, but  taking on extra, stereotypical women's work -- of which my male colleagues were incapable – got me paid like a man.
Such a bottom-line, logical-like-a-man decision.

Times change, for good and bad.
Hope it’s better for my daughter and daughters-in-law.
If nothing else, my sons learned to keyboard.
Sounds like a much more manly, remunerative skill than typing!

Author’s note: This poem is a misreading of the prompt for April 6. The next post is what I should have done. For this poem, Miles Franklin supplied the title; Dorothy Parker, the phrase “What Fresh Hell Is This?” and an advertisement, the picture of the typewriter.


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