The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2937 by Angharad Copyright© 2016 Angharad

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This is a work of fiction any mention of real people, places or institutions is purely coincidental and does not imply that they are as suggested in the story.
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The next morning our previously dapper member of staff dragged herself into my office wearing jeans and an open shirt with a tee shirt underneath, she had on minimal makeup and her hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She yawned as she walked into my office.

“Thanks for your support yesterday, I do appreciate it.”

“Come back down to earth now?” I asked.

“Oh yeah, I got home last night and after a glass of wine just zonked. I woke up two hours ago—slept for twelve or thirteen hours.”

“You didn’t see yourself on the telly, then?”

“Oh no, I wasn’t on telly, was I?”

“You were talking to the man with the large camera on his shoulder—what did you think it was—his hearing aid?”

“Sorry, I was on auto pilot trying to get it over as quickly as possible. I know you said the university would handle it but after thinking about what you said about fighting back, I decided to come out with all guns blazing. Did I do all right?”

“You did very well, but you’ve outed yourself now, so until people forget, they will, you’ll have minor celebrity status. So expect people to nudge their friends and also for some of Joe public to come up to you in the street and ask you personal questions about yourself, your sexual preferences and your medical history.”

“Really, isn’t that a bit personal?”

“More than a bit but you’ve been on the telly so they have a right to ask you, or so they think. You might also have people telling you how brave you are.”

“Goodness, how d’you know that?”

“It’s what happened the last time we had someone transition.”

“So you do know a bit about it?”

“I told you I did, I also had a daughter who was transgender.”

“Wow, so how did she get on?”

“She didn’t, she died.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to...”

“It’s okay, she had a cerebral aneurysm burst while we were cycling—she died instantly.”

“Oh bloody hell—how awful.”

“Yeah it was, but I can talk about it now.”

“Thanks for telling me.”

I nodded. “Are you going to be up to working today?”

“Yeah, I’ll have to face the little darlings some time. Might as well get it over with.”

“Any problems let me know—I suspect you’ll find them quite supportive on the whole. Don’t accept any intrusive questions or behaviour.”

“I won’t.”

“You looked very nice yesterday and did really well with the press.”

“Thanks, I really appreciate that.”

“Right, off you go—back to the salt mines.”

She laughed and left to go and do some tutorials. Another week and it will be mostly forgotten except by those who’d like to emulate her or find her sexually attractive or those who despise her for being different, their motivation usually driven by religious or political fervour—the politics being more likely petty variety such as the TERFs. We also have one or two Muslims and born again Christians who would condemn her but without thinking about it beyond the narrow confines of their self righteous indignation. If the complaints come to me I simply ask how they’d feel if they were attacked because of their religious beliefs. Their response is usually something like, God, Allah or Jesus will help them to cope as they are in the right.

I usually ask them if their god is always right, and they usually say aggressively, of course he is. Which leaves them open to my counter-question of, “If that’s the case, did he make so and so, like they are? In which case, why are you persecuting part of your god’s paradise?” They usually get aggressive at that stage and stamp off like angry six-year-olds.

“What happened to our fashion model?” asked Diane as she brought in my cuppa.

“I think a nasty attack of real life.”

“Was it like that for you?”

“I was about to be outed by some very nasty characters from the Russian mafia so Si and I went to the BBC and gave them an exclusive interview. It stopped most of the others being too bothered afterwards.”

“I’d have thought you were a more newsworthy target than Debbie?”

“I’m old hat now, especially against the younger prettier variety.”

“You’re a real beauty, boss-lady, don’t let anyone tell you different, besides being married to the Camerons of High St Banks plc, is far more exciting than being a young and pretty teacher.”

“If you say so.”

“I do, oh you realise you’re teaching at ten.”

I looked at the clock—poo, I should have found my notes and read through them. It was a quarter to and it looked as if I’d have to perform without them.

After finishing my tea, I clicked my way up the corridor in my stiletto heels feeling very self-conscious in the relative quiet of the corridors. The session went better than I expected with only two questions or remarks made about Debbie. I told them if they were that interested they should ask her to her face. It calmed down after that.

I couldn’t tell you why I was wearing an expensive suit to work. I didn’t really know unless it was to stifle the opposition. Debbie’s suit came from Top Shop or Next mine is an original Calvin Klein. It probably cost as much as the shop Debbie bought hers from—yeah, the whole shebang.

Then again, I’m not here to compete with one of my junior lecturers. I’m here to manage a faculty to develop my staff and students to reach their full potential. I let Diane and Debbie go to lunch together and they brought me back a tuna baguette. In some ways my avoiding Debbie was possibly a way of avoiding the ‘being seen together’ association leading to memories of my transition several years ago. While lots of people who were here then have left, there are still a few about and I didn’t want to jog their memories, but I half expected to hear feedback that the biology department is now the transgender department or something like that, or even that it appears the only department that doesn’t recognise genetic sex is biology.

While it was quiet, I called Dan and said I’d pop out to the reserve tomorrow. I felt in need of getting back to my roots and a walk in the woods would possibly assist that. I made a note to bring my walking boots and gaiters with me—the ticks could be active already and some might carry Lyme disease. Life at present is complicated enough without something like that happening to make it worse.

Yes, tomorrow I’m taking a few hours off to do some unofficial fieldwork.