The glass ceiling may be electric

Despite all the gains women have made regarding equality with men, it was demonstrated recently at my workplace that there remains at least one frontier on which women have not yet achieved parity with the opposite sex: operating electric can openers.


Normally operating such a machine is something I, as a technically and mechanically challenged person, avoid anyway. But, having a can of tuna fish for my lunch one day, and unable to locate the low-tech version of the can opener that usually resides in our office cafe, and having been too lazy to open my can of tuna fish at home, I had no choice but to face the Intimidator. It mocked my ineptitude by whirring and turning around and around, but refusing to make actual contact with the tuna fish can.


I finally broke down and asked for help, which as a woman I am fortunately allowed to do, or I long ago would have perished in our high-tech world. We women like to do things in groups, and to support each other and have many consultations with each other, so we eventually had five women working on the electric can opener, including one expert who warned that this particular machine was "temperamental." At one point the can opener quit making any noise at all, having tired of mocking us, and we concluded that it had permanently died. My tuna fish can was not even dented.


Women are very good at rallying around the wounded and offering balm and solace and, in this case, peanut butter and cheese from their own private stashes. But sometimes you just have to forge your own solutions in the world, and I decided my solution this time was to go to McDonald's.


Much later in the afternoon a male in the office heard of our humiliation at the hands of the can opener, and he declared that he uses it all the time and never has a problem. The can of tuna fish was duly handed to him, and we went in to witness what we supposed would be his humiliation at the hands of the can opener.


"It's probably not plugged in," he said, whereupon we scoffed, because of course we had checked that. Who did he think we were, females? 


As we watched, the traitorous can opener purred and neatly sliced open the tuna fish.


Being women, we proceeded to dissect this turn of events and put forth various hypotheses for the outcome, finally deciding that he had some secret of can opener operation that he was not sharing. This he vigorously denied, although he looked very smug.


Despite our humiliation, I determined to learn from this situation. Namely, I would henceforth open my tuna fish cans at home, in private, with my trusty low-tech, hand-operated can opener. At least, until it gets old and rusty and I can't turn it anymore and I have to ask the Hero for help...