Chuck Tingle
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Not Pounded By Bi Erasure Because My Current Hetero-Presenting Relationship Does Not Invalidate My Queerness
🕑 Added 2023-03-29 14:13:41 +0000 UTC
Selena is having a weird day. It starts off simple enough, with a few household items disappearing mysteriously, but things quickly turn heartbreaking when Selena’s office excludes her from a queer teambuilding workshop. According to Selena’s new boss, her current hetero-presenting relationship invalidates her bisexuality.
Now Selena is on a mission to shake up the system and prove her new boss wrong, but as things continue to disappear around her, she realizes there’s more going than meets the eye. It’s quickly revealed that the physical manifestation of bi erasure is on Selena’s trail, and this ignorant living concept will stop at nothing to deny Selena’s queerness.
Fortunately, Selena is surrounded by a loving, supportive community who accept her exactly as she is, and they’re ready to put up a fight!
This important tale is 4,200 words of sexless bisexual validation because your queerness is not predicated by ignorant gatekeeping from a giant pink eraser.
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NOT POUNDED BY BI ERASURE BECAUSE MY CURRENT HETERO-PRESENTING RELATIONSHIP DOES NOT INVALIDATE MY QUEERNESS
By Chuck Tingle
I logically understand how important this ritual is, starting the day with a fresh cup of chocolate milk in the front yard as the sun rises over the eastern tree line, but actually feeling these rays of light on my face is something else entirely. Out here in the first golden glimmers of the morning I’m totally at peace with myself.
I belong here.
I get up a little earlier than my husband on most days, but just knowing the man is wrapped up in his blankets and nestled within the house behind me is deeply fortifying.
I take a deep breath, noting the smell of the lawn’s wet grass and the tickle of the cool morning air against my skin.
The neighborhood is typically quiet at this time, little more than the soft hiss of sprinklers and the occasional early morning delivery cruising by, but today is different. A few houses down there’s a moving truck parked by the curb, the large vehicle’s back sitting wide open as a group of muscular workers carry boxes to and fro. They’re good at what they do, keeping it relatively quiet at this early hour, but the occasional grunt or groan still slips in.
I’d seen a ‘for sale’ sign speared into the grass out front of that house for a few weeks now, and I’m curious to see who snatched it up. If I had the time, I’d stroll over there and introduce myself, but I’m already running a little late.
As wonderful and meditative as this morning routine of mine is, it will inevitably come to an end when the frightening specter of my job looms its ugly head.
At least on Mondays through Fridays.
I can’t complain too much, though. Unlike many of my peers forced into the agony of long commutes and cramped cubicles, I get to work for home. However, that comes along with its own set of problems. For one, staring at video calls on my computer screen can get exhausting quick, straining my eyes to the point that I’m starting to worry about my optical health, and the fact that everyone else is in the Midwest or in New York City is a little annoying. Hence, the exceptionally early hours I find myself waking up every morning.
I make a mental note to head over there on my lunch break and say hello, then lift my chocolate milk for one last sip before heading inside.
I flinch as my own hand brushes against my face, then glance down in confusion. My beverage has completely disappeared, no longer gripped tight within my fingers.
My first instinct is to flip my palms over, a hilarious maneuver that makes it appear as though I’m playing some kind of magic trick on myself. It’s ridiculous, of course, especially given the size of my cup and the tough-to-wrangle contents held inside it, but it’s the first thing my mind goes to.
I laugh, then step back to search the ground around me. Maybe I dropped the cup and hadn’t even noticed, distracted by the overwhelming beauty of the morning.
Searching the yard prompts even more confusion to surge through my mind, utterly flummoxed by this disappearing beverage. I furrow my brow, struggling to remember the last time I actually took a sip from my chocolate milk and coming up empty.
Did I even have a drink out here in the first place?
“Huh,” is all I can think to say, the single word slipping from between my lips as a shrug my shoulders.
Realizing this may be a mystery that never finds a solution, I eventually turn and head back inside. Work is about to start and we’re kicking things off with an all-hands-on-deck meeting.
I head straight for my office, a guest room that’s been transformed into a work space now that all of my duties have been relegated to this exciting new business model.
I flop into my chair and turn on my computer, taking note of the time and immediately kicking into overdrive. It appears my distraction lasted a little too long, and I’m about to be late for our video call.
With seconds to spare, I position my computer and open the conference app, clicking to join a meeting that’s already began.
Moments later, my likeness appears on a screen with twenty or so other faces, little squares of digital information beamed in from all over the world.
Just in time.
“Alright, everybody in?” our HR representative starts, bringing this video chat to order.
It’s a rhetorical question, as she doesn’t have enough time to actually check, but I’m glad I’m here regardless. Today is a big day after all.
Whitney, the HR representative at Borson Global, clears her throat and continues onward. “Alright, I know we usually don’t kick our mornings off with a meeting like this, but I wanted to take a moment and introduce you all to our new boss, Ms. Frell Grungo. Frell, would you like to say anything to the team?”
There’s a slight beat of silence, the innate awkwardness of video conferencing on full display, then moments later a large black square appears on my screen. Frell is the featured speaker now, but it appears her camera has been turned off.
All we get is a voice.
“Hello team,” she begins. “I just wanted to say that I’m looking forward to joining this group of truly awesome individuals. I’ve already seen that everyone here is a hard worker, so let’s keep that energy up and push Borson Global into the future.”
In person, this might be the place where everyone offers up a perfunctory round of applause, but over the internet we suddenly find ourselves in yet another moment of awkward silence.
Finally, Whitney’s microphone crackles to life and she takes Frell’s place as the featured square. “Alright, let’s get to the next order of business, shall we?” my HR representative begins. “The company knows it’s hard to build connections over computers like this. You’re a great team already, but we’re looking for even more synergy whenever possible. I know this all sounds kind of boring, but I assure you it’s leading somewhere very, very cool.”
Whitney’s expression shifts a little, her professional deminer faltering as a slight twinkle enters her eye.
“I’m thrilled to announce that the Queer Joy Initiative has been approved! Every queer identifying member of our office should’ve already gotten an email about this with all the details, but the main point is this... You’re all going to Billings!” the HR representative cheers excitedly, clapping her hands and nearly leaping out of her chair. “Vacation!”
The other queer folks I work with immediately let out enthusiastic cheers of their own, thrilled about this free trip under the thinly veiled guise of teambuilding.
For a moment, even I get caught up in the excitement. “Yes!” I shout. “Cool!”
I’ve never been to Billings myself, but I’ve heard wonderful things. People travel from all over the country to see the sights and party in the streets, a legendary location that’s about to serve as the backdrop for some incredible new memories.
What happens in Billings, stays in Billings.
“What is it?” my husband calls out from the other room, roused from his slumber by my abrupt fit of shouting.
“Oh! Sorry,” I blurt, turning in my chair to call back down the hallway. “All the queer people on my work squad are getting a free teambuilding vacation to Billings!”
Moments later, my husband Jack peers his head around the doorway, smiling wide. “So cool!” he offers, grinning with that breathtakingly handsome face of his, a face made even cuter by the disheveled nature of his scruffy morning hair. “You’re gonna have such a great time.”
“Hell yeah,” I reply with a nod.
“I’m gonna go get ready,” Jack continues, leaving just as quickly as he arrived.
Unfortunately for my husband, we’re not a fully work-from-home family.
I turn my attention back to the computer screen, but minimize my video chat window. I’m still listening, but I’m much more interested in the details of this upcoming trip. Hopefully I’ll be free on the days they’ve scheduled.
I pull open my email and quickly scan the recent arrivals, running down my short list of unopened messages.
The second mystery of the morning is suddenly upon me, not quite sure what to make of the fact that I’ve received nothing from my office regarding a trip to Billings. I quickly check the trash and spam folders of my email, but these brief detours reveal nothing.
Eventually, I’m forced to jump back into the video chat, pulling up the meeting and diving in. Everyone has already moved on, now discussing our second quarter earnings.
“I’m—I’m so sorry,” I stammer, reluctantly interrupting. “This is about the last thing we were just talking about. I checked my email at there’s no message about the trip.”
The whole cascade of tiny video chat windows suddenly plunges into silence.
“Can everyone hear me okay?” I continue, double checking my connection.
Suddenly, the screen changes again, pulling me away from dozens of tiny squares and filling my monitor with nothing but stark black.
“Oh,” I blurt, assuming my computer has shut down, but quickly corrected when the voice of my new boss floods through the speakers.
“Hi there, Selena,” Frell starts. “I thought we could do this in a private chat just to make things easier. It’s a little chaotic in the main room.”
“Yeah, I was getting kinda confused,” I admit. “Can you help me find this email?”
“About that… you’re not gonna see an email about the trip in your messages,” my boss explains. “I’m really sorry.”
A rush of disappointment immediately washes over me. “Oh, that’s weird. Why?” I question. “The vacation was just announced… it’s already cancelled?”
“It’s not cancelled,” Frell continues. “It’s for queer employees only.”
I stare blankly at the screen, not entirely sure what she’s trying to say.
‘So why isn’t it in my inbox?” I press.
Frell waits a beat, then lets a long, exasperated sigh creep from between her lips. “I understand from your hiring paperwork that you’ve identified as a bisexual for quite some time,” my boss continues. “I also understand from the paperwork that you’ve been married to a man for three years.”
“That’s correct,” I retort.
“Well, if you’re married to a man then you can’t really call yourself bi, now can you?” Frell questions.
As a bisexual woman, I’m used to this kind of ignorant gatekeeping and discrimination, but usually the people I encounter are a little more subtle in their bigotry. Every once in a while, though, a rare gem like this will come along and completely ruin my fucking day.
Fortunately, I’m happy to ruin hers in return. Everyone has a boss, and Frell Grungo is no different. I can’t wait for the folks upstairs to see the kind of shit their new hire is pulling.
I have a hotkey set on my computer for screen recording, and I instinctively reach up to press it in the hopes of capturing some evidence. So far, none of this has been said in text, and I want to make sure I have a record of all this once it’s time to take things to the top.
Unfortunately, my finger misses the hotkey, because it appears my hotkey is no longer there. In fact, the whole computer is missing.
“Wait, what?” I blurt, utterly flabbergasted as I stare at the empty desk before me.
I run my hands across the flat wooden surface of this table, then look underneath as though this might reveal a logical answer to the sudden disappearance. Of course, it does no such thing.
I stand up from my chair, pacing back and forth as I grapple with the frightening thought that I might be losing my mind. Between this and the missing chocolate milk from earlier, something strange is definitely going on.
Jack’s voice calls out from the other room, breaking through my dumbfounded haze. “Alright, I’m headed out!” he yells.
“Wait!” I interject, hurrying over and catching him before he has a chance to walk out the door. “I need a ride to the computer store.”
“The computer store?” he repeats back. “Your computer is broken?”
“It’s missing,” I inform him, then abruptly switch gears. “I had a computer, right? Or am I losing it?”
“You definitely had a computer,” Jack continues. “Tell you what, I’ve got that extra laptop at the office. You can borrow mine.”
A let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”
Soon enough, the two of us are heading out to the car and climbing in, then taking off down the road. Luckily, Jack’s office is reasonably close, less than ten minutes away, which means I’ll have no problem grabbing his spare laptop then heading home to jump back into what’s shaping up to be a very busy day at work.
Do you even want to go back? I suddenly question, the thought loudly erupting through my mind. What kind of work environment is this?
Not a good one, that’s for sure, but I’m not quite ready to blame the whole team just yet. Most of these folks are my friends, people I’ve known for years who have alwayshad my back and gladly accepted me as a bisexual woman.
Whitney in HR will have no problem helping me out, and with our powers combined we should have no problem making a positive change.
I’m not ready to give up just yet.
As Whitney crosses my mind I suddenly realize that I should tell her what’s going on. For all she knows, I just dropped out of a work meeting and disappeared off the face of the earth. A quick text will do the trick, simply letting her know there’s a problem with my computer and I’m working to get a new one up and running.
I pull out my phone, ready to send a text, then halt abruptly. I swipe back and forth through my apps a few times, hoping that my eyes are playing tricks on me and then ending up sorely disappointed.
“Oh no,” I groan. “My text app is missing. So is my phone and my email.”
“Are you sure?” Jack asks, his eyes trained on the road.
“I’m sure,” I confirm. “What the hell? Things have been disappearing all day.”
We arrive at a stoplight and my husband finally glances over, taking note of the missing apps. His gaze drifts past my phone, coming to rest on my lap.
“What’s that?” he questions.
I look down, not sure what Jack’s talking about until he physically points it out with a single finger. It appears there’s a faint sprinkle of pink dust across my shirt, barely enough to notice unless you’re perfectly dialed in.
Fortunately, Jack is great at paying attention.
“I don’t know,” I admit, running my hand across the strange powder and watching as it wipes away. It doesn’t stain at all, simply brushing off my clothing and falling to the floor.
It’s not long before we’re pulling into the parking lot of Jack’s office building. My husband immediately springs from the car and heads inside, returning minutes later with his laptop in a simple case. He hands it over.
“Here you go,” he offers. “You can drive the car back, too.”
“Then how will you get home?” I question.
Jack shrugs. “I’ll figure it out. You need it more than me right now.”
“No, no,” I protest. “You’ll be so tired later.”
Jack just shakes his head and smiles. “Take it.”
With that, my husband kisses me and leaves, heading back into the office.
I stand next to our vehicle for a moment, considering his offer and then finally deciding to find my own way home. Jack is an incredibly thoughtful man, and I’m not surprised he’d tell me to take the car, but it’s much easier for meto get home now than it is for him at the end of a long day.
Instead, I pull out my phone and open one of the few apps I have left—my rideshare.
I punch in my location, noticing several drivers in the area, but the second I send out my alert it appears the majority of them have disappeared. Fortunately, one driver remains, and soon enough they’re pulling up to the parking lot.
“Selena?” the driver questions.
“Yeah,” I reply. “Trell?”
The driver is a large rectangle, light pink in coloration and hovering slightly. She’s a living object of some kind, likely a physically manifested concept, but I’m not entirely sure which one.
The driver nods and I stroll around to the passenger side, climbing in next to her.
“Thanks,” I offer.
The physical manifestation puts her car in drive and, soon enough, we’re on our way.
“How’s your day going?” Trell asks.
“Not great,” I reply. “I’ve been losing all kinds of stuff. I’m not usually this absent minded.”
“Oh yeah?” Trell continues. “What’d you lose?”
I consider this, thinking back to the start of my day. “Well, the first thing that disappeared was my morning glass of chocolate milk.”
The physical manifestation’s eyes go wide. “No way! Really?” she blurts. “I guess you’re in luck then.”
She reaches into the backseat, where a small cooler is sitting. Still driving with one hand, Trell opens the cooler with her other and pulls out an ice cold bottle of fresh chocolate milk. She hands it over.
“Here, take it,” Trell says.
“Whoa, really?” I gush. “Thank you!”
I pop open the cap and imbibe a long, appreciative swing of the frosty, sugary beverage. Maybe this particular brand is just well-crafted, or maybe it’s because I’ve been craving a sip of the good stuff since my cup disappeared this morning. Either way, this is some of the best chocolate milk I’ve ever had.
“Amazing,” I gush ,pulling back and taking a look at the bottle as though it might reveal some ancient secret.
“You like it?” Trell replies. “How about we take a detour to the park and crack open a few more?”
The offer is kind enough, but something in the depths of my subconscious mind immediately gives me pause.
“I don’t know. I should probably get home and rejoin my meeting,” I explain.
“It’ll be very gay,” the physical manifestation insists. “Definitely not bi.”
The tone of her voice triggers another visceral reaction in the depths of my mind, connecting a new set of dots and forming a complete picture. It’s not just what she’s saying, but how she’s saying it, a distinct familiarity in her tone.
I know that voice.
“Oh my god! You’re not Trell! You’re Frell!” I gasp. “You’re my new boss!”
The flat pink rectangle lets out a long sigh, pulling over to the curb and stopping her vehicle. All the while, my eyes are trained on her in utter amazement, my jaw agape as I struggle to comprehend what’s going on here.
“This is for your own good,” Frell explains. “You don’t wanna waste a bunch of time trying to be something that doesn’t exist.”
“Whatdoesn’t exist?” I ask, searching for clarity.
“Bisexuality,” Frell retorts. “We could be lesbians together if you want. Hell, I’ll even get the hell out of here and you can be straight with your husband! Whatever you wanna do is fine with me, just forget about the bi stuff.”
“But I am bi,” I insist. “I have been my whole life. Just because I’m married to a man doesn’t change that.”
“There’s no such thing as bisexuals!” the physical manifestation yells. “You’re just confused.”
I shake my head. “Who made you the authority on how I identify?” I counter. “That’s not your business.”
“It’s literally my business,” Frell scoffs. “I’m your boss.”
Her answer immediately prompts a smile to make its way across my face, an unexpected reaction that stops the physical manifestation in her tracks.
I slowly retract my phone from my pocket, showing the screen to Frell.
“I don’t know how you got rid of those apps on my phone, but you forgot about a very important one,” I chuckle. “The audio recorder.”
A big red circle is blinking at the center of my phone screen, letting the physical manifestation know that our entire conversation has been recorded.
“What do you suppose HR will think when they-” my gloating is cut short when the phone disappears from my hand, crumbling in a flurry of pink dust.
I freeze, then let out a long sigh.
“Well, I probably should’ve seen that coming,” I admit.
“There’s no escaping bi erasure,” the physical manifestation exclaims, her eyes wide and burning with devious intensity.
It all falls into place now—the missing objects, the attempts to control my identity. Frell isn’t just some pink rectangle, she’s an eraser, and her power is unfathomable.
I consider running, but immediately worry the physical manifestation of bi erasure will just delete my feet.
Just take me home,” I finally state, utterly defeated.
I continue dreaming up means of escape on our drive back to the house, but none of them are clever enough to contend with the supernatural might of this frightening physical manifestation. Things grow even more dire as we turn onto my street, Frell pointing out the house with the movers out front.
“I just bought this place,” she informs me. “I’m gonna be a big part of your life now… forever.”
We pull into my driveway, parking and heading inside. I feel like a ghost, the shell of my former self just wandering through this existence but not entirely connecting with it. This home was a place of joy, and now something terrible has weaseled its way inside.
“I’m just gonna get back to work,” I explain, heading towards the office with my husband’s computer in tow. “Make yourself at home, I guess. There’s more chocolate milk in the fridge.”
“Don’t mind if I do!” Frella replies with a laugh, heading for the kitchen.
I return to my desk and open the laptop, quickly booting up. Before I get the chance to sign into my video chat software, however, something strange happens. My email program starts to ping, slowly at first and then coming faster and faster as the messages pour in. I quickly realize that it’s not just my email, receiving notifications on every platform imaginable.
I open up one of the latest messages, which appears to be from one of my co-workers.
“That was so messed up,” I read aloud. “Just so you know, your bisexuality is valid. We all love you and support you.”
I open another text, then another.
We’ve talked to HR and they’re taking this to the top, says the new message.Nobody can treat you like that.
A loud crash from the kitchen suddenly draws my attention.
“Selena!” the physical manifestation of bi erasure roars. “What are you doing in there?”
I stand abruptly, backing away from the door and gasping aloud when Frella staggers in. She’s bobbing and weaving in the air, flickering in and out of existence as she struggles to stay upright. She looks gravely ill, a vacant glaze over her eyes.
“I’m—I’m not doing anything,” I stammer.
“It sure as hell doesn’t feel like it!” the physical manifestation screams.
I take a moment, realizing what’s happening and then shifting my demeanor. I stand upright, facing her head on. “I’m not doing anything,” I repeat, “but my friends are. They accept me for who I am.”
“No,” Frella mumbles, her body almost entirely translucent and fading fast. “They’re lying. They don’t accept you.”
“Actually, I’ve crafted a pretty great community of supportive people who love me,” I counter. “My bisexuality is real, and my currently hetero-presenting relationship does not invalidate my queerness.”
The computer suddenly pipes up, alerting me that I’ve received a new voice memo.
“Bolexa, play new message,” I call out.
The computer immediately kicks into gear, playing the file.
“Hey, this is Whitney,” announces the voice of my HR representative. “I just wanted to let you know that we’ve let Frell go. We got a lot of complaints after that meeting and, well, frankly I also had a problem with what she said. I’m bi, too. Anyway, you’re officially part of the queer teambuilding trip, just wanted to let you know.”
This is the final straw, a fatal blow that causes my bi erasure to blink out like a light. All that remains now is a dusting of pink eraser powder, piled where she once hovered.
Of course, this probably isn’t the last that I’ll see Frella. Bi erasure isn’t going away just like that, but it’s a start.
Regardless, I can’t wait to spend some quality time with the people who love me, and who accept me just the way I am.
Comments
Leilah
Thanks so much, Dr. Tingle - needed this today!
