So when checkout rolled around on Boxing Day, I scraped myself together. Made several lists. Got to work.
I traded in my master’s program for an extra job as supervisor of the girls’ dorms. I scrimped and saved every non-pre-designated loonie I earned, hoping to have enough for fertility treatments by summer.
And it still wasn’t enough.
Which made the meeting I’d scheduled with the head of school that spring feel even moremake-or-break everythingas I walked into his classic boarding school office—dark wood furniture and a grand bookcase stuffed with hardbound books written exclusively by white men.
“Hi, Principal Awlridge.”
I pasted on my usualhey, I’m neurotypical, just like yousmile, but it was hard to keep the nervous tremor out of my voice as I sat down across from Barrington Academy’s notoriously frosty head of school. “Thanks so much for agreeing to meet with me today.”
“Yes, sit down, Ms. Bird,” he said without looking up from the Excel sheet he was poring over. “I have a few items I want to discuss with you, which is why I asked for this meeting.”
Okay. I was already sitting. Also,Ihad asked for the meeting, not him.
But considering my number-one agenda item was requesting a raise after nearly a semester of working as a dorm supervisor, on top of teaching a combined 5th and 6th grade class, it didn’t feel wise to correct him.
I scrambled for one of the win-win responses drilled into me during the year-long Dialectical Behavior Therapy course I’d taken in college to learn how to manage my emotions, tolerate distress, and improve my interpersonal relationship skills.
“I’m glad the timing worked out for both of us,” I offered.
“And I know you’re busy, so I’ll get straight to the point?—”
“Yes, let’s,” he cut in. Principal Awlridge sat up and placed his reading glasses on top of the printout. “No need to beat around the bush. I have concerns about your appearance.”
I jolted. “My appearance?”
“Well, you and your sister Robin have always had straight hair. And now it looks like…” He gave me a frowny up-and-down look.
“…that.”
“Like that?” I glanced down at the kinky curls spilling over the shoulders of my yellow merino wool sweater. “Do you mean in a twist out?”
“Whatever it’s called.” He made a distasteful sound. “Wouldn’t you agree, the way you and Robin wore your hair before was a bit more professional? In fact, I saw she still wears hers that way in the baby announcement she and Vikram sent around. And she’s just given birth.”
I adjusted my glasses—my preferred stim for social situations. Also, a great tactic when you needed a few seconds to choose something other than yelling… or punching your boss in the throat.
“While Robin and I applied and were hired at the same time, we're two separate people,” I eventually replied with more patience than I felt. “And as two separate people, we make different decisions about our hair.”
“So you’re saying that while she chooses to keep hersneat, you’re deliberately keeping yours in this messy state?”
Glasses adjust. Glasses adjust.
I barely managed to level out my voice. “If by messy, you mean natural?—”
“Oh, don’t give me that natural junk,” he scoffed. “I started as a teacher here thirty years ago. If I had come to school with my hair in itsnaturalstate—without bothering to trim or run a comb through it—I would’ve been fired on my first day. I let it slide, assuming you’d go back to how it was before. But it’s been over four months now.”
Yes.
Over four months since I’d stopped wasting money I didn’t have on expensive blowouts and started saving every penny for the far more expensive fertility treatments.
Which, ironically, was the only reason I didn’t point out to Principal Awlridge that he was already several comments into violating at least one discrimination law I could name off the top of my head.
I mentally flipped through the dog-eared DBT workbook I still referenced, even though it had been ten years since I’d taken the course at age nineteen after receiving my diagnosis.
“Actually, this segues into what I wanted to talk to you about when I requested this meeting.” Opting for the redirection chapter, I used my cheeriest tone to steer things back to safer ground. “I was hoping to bring my salary up to match my last performance review.”
Before he could reply, I slid the folder I’d brought across the desk.
