(Don’t say “ugly.” Say “homely-enabled.” Or “Jerry Springer guest-ish.”)
For the few dozen of you out there who still have a private sector job, I have some breaking news for you. Monday morning, when you get to work, tread lightly. That voracious varmint known as “Political Correctness?” You know, the beast that cannot be fed? It’s extended its reach.
It now protects ugly people.
That’s right, America. From a legal perspective, ugly people are now a protected class, with their own set of exemptions and extra rights, much like atheists, or Wisconsin schoolteachers. We now have a whole new group of potential workplace-lawsuit victims, whining for advocacy and access, clamoring for attention and attorneys, despite sporting heads that look like they must’ve lost a bet.
According to this week’s cadre of pesky, know-it-all progressive crusaders, discriminating against ugly people in the workforce has suddenly become a huge problem. Personally, I fail to see any evidence of these alleged encroaching tentacles of anti-ugly bigots, if you catch my drift. Ugly’s kind of like Sarah Palin, or car commercials: ugly is everywhere. For example, I order fast food almost every day from people who look like they’re running late for a Michael Jackson zombie video.
And on behalf of us single guys in the workplace, let me say for the record that we don’t need this extra hassle. We had enough hassles already, thank you very much. It’s tough enough as it is now, just trying to deal with women and overly-caffeinated sales people. Not to mention grandparents armed with photos.
Sales people are easy. Just tell them they’re ugly, and they’ll laugh and go away. Long ago, perhaps in utero, they convinced themselves that they’re not ugly, because…well…because they’re sales professionals!
Alternatively, you could try just killing sales people, but let’s be honest – who walks around work all day , handily packing garlic and a stake? Besides, there’s no guarantee a sales person will stay dead, especially if they’ve not yet hit quota.
Women, on the other hand, can be a bit trickier. At work, women immediately outflank guys tactically, for two very good reasons:
Women think most guys are idiots Most guys are idiots
However, women have inherent advantages that further compound the problem:
Women have great big eyes. Two, generally. Women have angles and bumps that guys don’t have. Well, most guys. Most guys are idiots
And finally, we have grandparents. Grandchild-picture-packing grandparents, when unmonitored and released in a work environment, are ruthless, political and adhesive.
Now, I’m the first to admit that two-week-old babies, as a non-invasive caucus, are ridiculously cute, and they stay cute until there are mitigating factors, like decorative body piercings, or proms, or pending indictments.
But two-minute-olds? No. Sorry, no. Extremely newborns look like Mr. Magoo would look after getting his hand caught in a vise.
But grandparents don’t see it that way. They have a bias, and they’re on a mission. Somehow, at the hospital, they’d managed to smuggle a camera into Labor & Delivery and then snap candid photos of their own child’s child, a tiny, damp, six-second-old future human who doesn’t even have a fig leaf or a Facebook account. I mean, here’s a hapless, naked little biped who as yet hasn’t even worked out that whole inhale/exhale thing. The poor, wailing congealed kid looks like a mini-Bill Murray, just off of a “Ghostbusters” slime outtake.
To a grandparent, however, this little bundle is the galaxy’s first perfected person. Until now, every other human was just a flawed draft.
To a grandparent, this child is the apex of history’s vast sweep, the acme of personhood.
To your average guy on his morning break, it’s a grainy Mutual of Omaha marginally-viable prairie mammal.
So, be warned. It’s just a matter of time before some grandparent corners you at work and proudly whips out snaps of the former fetus (undoubtedly saddled with a name like William Overlord Johnson III, a name that weighs more than the kid itself). There’s no graceful way to deal with this tricky social challenge, other than the obvious, time-tested, manly solution:
Lie.
Yes, lie. Lie like lying was an Olympic event. Lie like lying is a newly-unearthed Commandment. And don’t look at me like that. As if you’re offended or something.
You’re not fooling anybody, you know. You’ve lied twice since you started reading this. You lied to get this job.
I mean, what are you gonna say to the grandguy as he proudly brandishes progeny-once-removed? The truth?
a) Holy rainwater! What morphing software are you using? b) Isn’t that the two-nosed alien Han Solo blasted in the Star Wars bar? c) None of my business, of course, but why are you carrying around a photo of Jonathan Winters in a hurricane?
I rest my case.
So let’s review some scenarios. Ready?
Because you were distracted, Tony from Accounting (a new grandparent) managed to corner you at the water cooler. As you calculate sprinting distances to the various exits, Tony rakes your cheek with a photo and launches a salvo:
Scenario 1: Grandpa Tony says, “Is that not the most handsomest child you ever saw?”
Your optimal response?
a) Tony, I’ve never seen a more beautiful baby in my life! b) Whoa! What, did somebody dip the kid in something? c) Aw, Tony, he looks just like you, if you were Mr. Magoo and had been in a serious shop accident!
Scenario 2: Grandpa Tony says, “Look at that grin, eh? This one’s gonna be a handful!”
Your optimal response?
a) Yep, trouble for sure, that one! Heh heh. b) Tony, that’s not his grin. Somebody flip the kid. c) Well, whaddaya know! I didn’t realize recidivism was an acquired trait.
So be careful, worker guy. Remember, ugly people are out there, and now they can sue you. Now they’re a protected class. An endangered species, even. Maybe. Hopefully.
Ugly, in solidarity.
I just hope they’re still a minority.