“Did you want [life insurance] for your wife?”
That comes from my HR office… in an email response to a form I filled out to apply for life insurance on behalf of my partner and myself. So, you know, his traditionally-masculine name (Eric… yes, we have the same first name), and checking ‘M’ for his sex, and checking “I currently have an eligible Domestic Partner” rather than providing the date of our (heterosexual) marriage — all of that failed to correct the automatic assumption that I, as a man, am 1) married 2) to a woman.
I fumed for a bit, and then responded politely to correct the heterosexist assumption. When I received a call instead of an email reply, “partner” was used, but no apology was given for the mistake. Insult, meet injury.
From there, I had to compartmentalize my hurt long enough to meet with a student who dropped by unannounced, and then teach my gender and sexuality course. It is no wonder that I left campus that night exhausted, grouchy, and a little queasy. Sadly, that is only one of many days that have either been completely derailed by a microaggression, or that I have had to conjure great emotional strength to box it up until I get home.
Yeah, so being a marginalized faculty member is probably a health hazard. No, really.