Over the years I have morphed from being an employee to being a boss. Four years ago my company moved into a warehouse space and with business partner/brother moving out of state I became, and though he comes to help periodically, primarily in-charge of the day to day activities. As a fulfillment operation, moving copious amounts of heavy boxes—with my I-am-way-stronger-than-you-think strength or Delores, my trusty forklift, is a daily occurrence.
Though I am often the only person to encounter, men will most often look past me—into the warehouse—to see if “the boss” is there for them to talk to. I routinely have to tell people I am the one in-charge. I have freight drivers that look questioningly as I pull up in Delores to unload a truck. My landlord has been known to speak down to me and not treat me like my male counterparts (when my water heater sprung a leak he asked if I had been poking it…). And the other day, after I had more pallet shelving installed and asked the men how to pay and was told the owner would contact me, the owner sent multiple emails to my brother saying “the receptionist didn’t know how to pay.”
When my aunt and I made Milo a custom outfit for my brother’s wedding I knew this was a photo I wanted to take. Its over the top and ridiculous, just like how I have been treated as a female business owner. But over the years, though it still bothers me, I am comfortable in my position and skills and as Lizzo would say, “feeling good as hell.”
and of course we had to do one full company shot.