Mx. Roberta Finklestein (pronouns they/them, MA in Gender Studies, Oberlin 2010) was perplexed. For the life of them they couldn’t figure out why they’d been pulled over that day by a nice but rather imposing Latinx gentleman working for the Sheriff’s Department, cited, and told to appear at the station for questioning.
They initially thought it had something to do with their allyship work and social justice initiatives they brought with them on starting as a substitute teacher for the Eighth Grade classes at Nicholas Saban Intermediate School in Driftwood County, Alabama.
After all, this was one of those red states, and they wasn’t entirely sure there wasn’t some sort of Republican led effort to stop them from teaching students about the Gender Unicorn or assigning ethnographic work they’d based from Ibram Kendi’s classic text “Antiracist Baby.”
The Sheriff had requested to meet with them, though, and that was troubling. After all, all cops were bastards, even if they were men of color like Mud Lick’s Sheriff. And who knew what a toxic man with a badge and a gun could want with a marginalized individual like Mx. Finklestein?
Their rapidly anxious thoughts quickened until the door to Interrogation Room I opened and Sheriff Roy Templeton, Mud Lick’s top law enforcement officer, entered. Finklestein tried to suss out the Sheriff’s internal mood, but all they got from a cursory glance was a mix of “bad cop” and “domestic terrorist parent at a school board meeting.”
“Please don’t mind getting up, um…” the Sheriff started, looking at a file folder. “How do you pronounce this? “Emex?”
“Oh that’s pronounced “Mix,” Finklestein said with a touch of delight in their voice. “The term “Mx.” is an appropriate way to address an adult who identifies as non-binary, such as myself.”
Finklestein perked up a little bit. Perhaps this Sheriff wasn’t a filthy Trump-kissing Republican after all.
“Do you know why you were called in here today, Mx. Finklestein?” the Sheriff began.
“I haven’t the foggiest, Sheriff,” Finklestein returned.
“Do you recall substitute teaching last week at Saban Intermediate?”
“Of course. I was assigned to Ms. Robertson’s class for the week.”
“And do you admit to showing the Warner Brothers film “The Batman” to a classroom full of eighth graders during that weeklong period?”
Finklestein blinked in shock. “Um, yes. I did. That’s a PG-13 movie and the kids in the class are all of age appropriateness to watch that material. Is there some problem, Sheriff?”
“Did you pre-screen this material before introducing it to a class of impressionable children, “Mx.” Finklestein?”
Roberta paused. “Well, I didn’t really give it that much thought. It was one of those super hero movies, right? How bad could it possibly be? Kids watch those all the time in theaters.”
“Mx. Finklestein, do you think allowing impressionable children to view a movie glorifying vigilante justice and taking the law into one’s own hands is age appropriate for an eighth grade education?”
Finklestein bit their tongue. They wasn’t being charged—yet—and if they just kept their mouth shut they thought they might get out of this without further incident.
“People think there’s no harm done in showing kids stuff like “Batman,” the Sheriff continued. “I submit there’s nothing more dangerous to the community than allowing children to think rich white men with interesting toys will solve all crime. Elon Musk and Jeff Bezos have enough money to pull that shit off and all they do is spout off on Twitter how the other should spend his money.”
“Do you know what I could do with half the budget Bruce Wayne has, Mx. Finklestein?” Sheriff Roy asked the substitute. “I could fix a few squad cars in need of repair. I could replace some damaged body armor that saves my officers’ lives. I could even get us new Narcan dispensers so we could deal with overdose calls better. Instead you show those kids, including my Roy Junior, that a white man wearing eye makeup at night can solve all their problems with money and fists.”
“I hadn’t really thought of that, Sheriff. I’m sorry if I offended you,” Finklestein replied.
“As well you should be!” roared the Sheriff. “And the depictions of criminals in that film are totally unrealistic. Zoe Kravitz is a terrible burglar. Burglars don’t give a shit about which ‘man’ they’re sticking it to unless one in particular has a shinier object that will sell well on the black market. Paul Dano looks like a mix between a garbage bag, Doogie Howser, and a gimp suit. Hell, the only one that looks and acts realistic is Collin Farrell and they had to put him in a fat suit to lower the acting quality!”
The room fell silent as Sheriff Roy finished his tirade. The two adults locked eyes for a moment. It was clear to Mx. Finklestein they’d crossed some sort of line. They couldn’t figure out how to squirm out of this one without causing further trouble.
“Sheriff, it’s clear that showing this movie in the classroom was out of line in your view. I’m terribly sorry for that and I’d like to take ownership of my hurtful actions. How in your eyes is the best way I can make this up to you?”
Mud Lick’s top cop thought for a moment. He then replied with, “If you’re willing to be reasonable, I’m willing to be reasonable. Hold on a moment.” He then left Interrogation I with no further indication why.
Twenty minutes later Sheriff Roy returned with an armful of VHS tapes in collector’s boxes. He set them down on the table of the interrogation room with a sense of pride.
“Here you go. My complete collection of the entire first two seasons of “Dragnet.” If you want the kids to watch something entertaining and educational, I suggest you get a VHS player from the school audiovisual room and try this on for size.”
“Thank you, Sheriff Templeton.” Mx. Finklestein attempted to sound grateful as they accepted the tapes, making a mental note to burn them later when they had the chance to record it for TikTok.
“My pleasure. Thank you for coming in and being a reasonable adult about this matter. Take the tapes with you and you’re free to go.”
Finklestein got up and prepared to leave. “Thank you, Sheriff. I appreciate your input on my methods and want to strive for greater transparency in teaching. Parents should always have a say in what’s taught into the classroom!”
This made them vomit just a little in their mouth to say, but that wasn’t going to be the hill on which they died in a Southern Republican Sheriff’s office. Finklestein wasn’t about to become another statistic.
“You’re welcome, and thank you for stopping by, Mx. Finklestein. By the way, I hope you don’t mind that I spoke with the principal at Saban Intermediate and changed your textbook order.”
“Do what now, Sheriff?” Finklestein asked.
“We replaced your order of “Antiracist Baby” with “Zero to One” by Peter Thiel,” Sheriff Roy said with a smirk. “Something tells me your students will get more out of that than anything else you’ve taught this year!”
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This post made me realize that regardless of my willingness to try to accommodate such silliness as plural pronouns, my old man brain is incapable of doing so. It’s just not gonna happen.
Just keep reminding yourself that they has multiple personality disorder.
If that don’t work, imagine the ghosts of ten dead fascists riding on thems back.
Hope this helps.
Like I told you, it was a slog writing out all that shit. I’ll be happy to help anyone come up with something like “shrm” or “hirs” but the whole plural pronoun thing just butchers the English language.
I know a child who has been “experimenting” with gender expression since they were three. Initially the parents hoped it was a phase, because they knew it would make their kid’s life harder, but the kid was determined and has never wavered up to this point. Luckily the kid has a very supportive extended family and community and thus far they haven’t faced any significant issues. It remains to be seen whether that continues, and also remains to be seen whether the kid continues down the path they’re on. It is clear though, from watching their persistence and insistence from an age where they had no exposure to influences that might have encouraged them to explore the area because it’s the “trendy” thing to do, that something within them compelled them to do it, but I don’t think it’s multiple personality disorder.
Also I used the plural “they” in that paragraph, which I do whenever I don’t know someone’s gender, like when I receive an email from someone named Kyle or Taylor or Adrian, because it’s not clear from the name whether they are male or female. That’s something we commonly do and have always done. What I struggle with are new words that never existed before, like xy and xer (or shrm or hirs).
You do realize, I hope, you just made a joke post about “The Batman” into a discussion over pronouns?
Anyway, happy Friday!
Can’t help but feel like that’s the pot calling the kettle black here.
Regardless, happy Friday is something we can all agree on! I hope everyone enjoyed scotch o’clock regardless of what pronouns they may be using.
“Thank you, Sheriff Templeton.” Mx. Finklestein attempted to sound grateful as they accepted the tapes, making a mental note to burn them later when they had the chance to record it for TikTok.
That was epic.
Thank you!
PS: Don’t watch this. It’s stupid.
Glad you enjoyed it, and I shall refrain from watching said video.
The thing that I don’t understand is why the VHS tapes later were going to be recording burning Mx. Finklestein for TikTok.
I blame the goddamn plural pronouns.
Bravo!
Thank you, I’ll be here all week. Try your waitress and tip the veal!
Albert Einstein was a genius, but his brother Frank was a real monster.
Technically he was a monster maker. Spoken while running from the room to avoid thrown fruit.
It was funny. You get an attaboy.
Or an attanonbinary. Mustn’t assume gender.
No. Just no.
At first we thought it might were because they was showing their students To Kill A Mockingbird, but by now even the good old y’alls would know they is not permitted to teach kids that it are ok to defending a rapists.
I’ll have to be honest, I have no idea what the fuck any of this means, but okay!
My work here are done.
Your efforts did not go unnoticed.
I’ll second that remark!
CLS, some advice from a semi-literate literary critic fearful of how many Sheriff Roy episodes he missed before finding this hotel:
The world needs a Sheriff Roy novel. Or at least an anthology.
I’d buy it.
Heck, I’d pre-order it from Amazon.
If it isn’t already there you could add best selling author to magician on your resume.
One of the truest trueisms from one of Joe Friday’s rants: “Maybe she’s right. It’s not much of a life unless you don’t mind missing a Dodger game because the “Hotshot phone” rings. Not unless you like working Saturdays, Sundays, holidays at a job that doesn’t pay overtime. Oh, the pay’s adequate. You count your pennies, you could put your kid through college, but you better plan on seeing Europe on your television set…Maybe your girlfriend’s right, Culver. But there’s also this: there are over 5,000 men in this city who know that being a policeman is an endless, glamourless, thankless job that’s gotta be done. I know it, too, and I’m damn glad to be one of them.”
Though most agencies do get overtime and holiday pay now.