Dry Run

I have oft wondered about coming out at work. Friends ask why and I think of James Baldwin on why he came out with his second novel. "They don't tell me; I tell them." When I read the quote I understood immediately – it was about controlling the cycle, an understanding of “spin” a generation before Fox and CNN. It resonated with me because coming out while difficult strikes me as infinitely preferable to being discovered – being seen on the street arm in arm with my boyfriend, maybe an overheard phone call, or maybe, just maybe, a slip of my tongue. This all came into focus during the past day.

I am a white collar dude, even if I do not wear white shirts, and definitely a tie dangling. Yesterday I went on a recovery mission looking for some papers that may have found its way into the recycling pile. I learn the recycling bin – an excessively large garbage pail is right behind the official shredding machine. I lean over the shredder, far over, peeking into the bin behind. As I shuffle the papers it happens: my tie dips into the shredder and the whir begins. I know this machine so as it starts to eat my tie, a tie that is attached rather securely to my neck, I hit the off switch and then the reverse button. Within seconds I am free, the bottom few inches of my tie in strips, but fine other than being massively embarrassed. Off with the tie, back to my office and back to work.

It seems that someone noticed this moment from the distance. Now they did not approach, inquire as to my well being, but notice they did and yes, the news started to circulate. A few minutes later two of my partners come in to inquire and I tell them yes it occurred; no it was not a major incident. I continue my work and it being late in the day soon head out for my evening. But the incident stays in my mind – this will, quite appropriately, be the talk of the office. There will be some teasing. And I remain embarrassed.

The next morning I am barely at my desk and three friends pop in. I raise my head and say it’s true. They start to laugh and I can’t help it – I laugh with them. Even I can see the humor. We discuss how much damage I would have needed to incur before the person watching actually would have come to my aid. The rumors already have my head almost in the shredder.

I know there is one person – a senior partner – who relishes in other’s misery. Over the years I have learned the secret. Never give him a rise, never let him smell blood. He leaves me alone in general: what fun is there in one who doesn’t really care. But I know this one will have his juices flowing. It comes to me. I find a large bandage in the first aid kit, some ketchup in the cafeteria and when he comes in I am ready, neck bandaged, just a touch of red. I find him; tell him it was worse than I thought. He looks, smiles and then, with a smile, extends his hand. We shake. I will be teased, this is a good one, but the teasing is with me, not behind my back. I told them.

Through the prism of this incident are lessons for coming out. An acutely embarrassing moment became quite bearable when I took ownership of it. My friends, the real ones, came to me to see what was true and then laughed and without words invited me to laugh with them. Those that would have teased – and still to a degree did – were greatly disarmed when I took the game to them instead of waiting for the hammer to fall.

So I can wait, never come out – maybe I will never be caught, never slip up. Doubtful. Or at some point I can come out – no rainbow flags, just conversations with those I care about and who care about me. It will not be an easy day. But the days that follow will be worth it, days of being me, days of no self censoring. And I can now see how when I tell them, they will no longer be able to tell me. It will be a few more months, but one day I will write on these pages that “I told them.”