You Can Talk to Me

Poughkeepsie, NY – This past spring my boyfriend and I purchased a two-family foreclosure in Poughkeepsie, NY.  Though charming, the house was in unfortunate condition and in need of a lot of love. Though we did most of the work ourselves (largely through the process of trial and error) we had to hire out a few of the more demanding tasks. I spent a couple weeks calling contractors and electricians and getting my money’s worth out of free estimates.

I always felt that if I was a confident person other people would take me seriously and treat me with respect. Never have I felt that I couldn’t do something because I was female. Growing up I worked alongside my dad and brother as we did roofing, plumbing and gutting projects. I played soccer on a co-ed team until I was forced onto and all-girls team, and wore what I wanted throughout high school as teachers wrote me off as the class clown. Determined, direct and rather aggressive is how I made it through most of life and is exactly how I was going to tackle fixing up our first home.

But something struck me when the electrician refused to tell me what work we needed done. I was the one who called him, set up the appointment and would end up writing the check, so why couldn’t he give me the verdict? The same thing happened when the contractor walked out the door for the day, waving a merry goodbye and again when the gas company worker came (though he insisted on leaving a note). They asked the same things, “When will your husband be home?” “When would be a good time to call him?” “Will he be here tomorrow?” and even “How about I just come back when your husband is home?” “Boyfriend,” I corrected them.

Writing them all off as misogynists, I assumed they all had terrible childhood experiences in which dozens of women beat them over the head with crowbars and garden rakes. I figured it must be easier to talk to men, as they compared penis sizes and joked about last night’s game. Maybe they assumed I would start crying, or leave in the middle of the conversation to put on a Lifetime movie. I was home, I asked all the questions, I was there when they left so what was wrong with talking to me? It wasn’t until the building inspector made his rounds, I realized they all figured I was naïve, uninterested and generally uniformed.  When I asked straightforwardly for something to be changed, fixed or modified they went behind my back to call my boyfriend at work. When his response was “Isn’t Felice home?” or “Whatever Felice came up with” they finally got the hint. Despite my genitalia, they would have to talk to me, it was the only answer they were going to get and the only way they were getting paid. Looking down at their feet and fumbling with measurements, they finally came to me and looked at me quizzically, as if asking me if I was sure.

This summer we’re getting part of the foundation re-poured. Sure enough I will be calling and setting up the estimates and going over prices of materials and labor, and part of me cant wait until they take one look at me and ask: “Husband?” and I’ll reply, “Nope, business partner.”

- feliznavidad99