The “Mx.” got way delayed

I have not come up against very much resistance or ugliness as I’ve come out, in stages, in different ways, over the span of like 18 years.  I’ve been called rude things out car windows.  I’ve had uncomfortable and disconcerting medical appointments.  I’ve faced silence-as-acceptance(?) from certain family members.  I’m still dealing with people not grasping the right pronoun, or referring to my spouse as my “friend.”  But these things have been few and far between, and although they do add up, they don’t feel terribly crushing.  Most of the hardest feelings have come from within, and not outside forces.

Two weeks ago though, something came up that was deliberate, that would affect me long term, and that I can’t just let go.  It’s my name plate at work.

I’ve worked at this school for over 10 years, and I’ve struggled to find my place within the rest of the staff.  As a default, I’ve been distant and out-of-the-loop for the most part.  It took me 6 years to get a name on the custodial door at all, and that only happened when a new person started and he got his name on the door.  Then it was suddenly, hey, wait a minute!  I had been fine without one, or so I told myself, because I’d rather not have one at all than be a “Miss” or a “Ms.” or later a “Mrs.” or even a “Mr.”  All of those feel cringe-worthy and totally wrong for me.  So when I was actually asked, and I said, “KT [last name]” and that was accepted, I was thrilled.  That was the name I went by.  It felt right.  At the time.

And then it didn’t.  I came out at work last December.  Holy what, that was a year ago!  Part of this included talking to the principal about my name and pronoun change.  I also made it clear that I was not transitioning to male, exactly, and I’d like it to be known I identify as in the middle or as a little bit of both genders.  She replied that that distinction was not necessary, and that was more of a private thing.  PS- It isn’t.  It’s my identity.  Instead of deciding I needed to clarify in that moment though, I attempted to grasp onto other compromises and specifics.  So that, when she asked me about my name on the custodial door, it was immediately a no-brainer.  “Mx. [last name].”  It’s another option, I said.  It is in use.  It’s a thing, I tried to assure her.  I said, “If this is representing my name, then I don’t feel compelled to spell out [in a coming out email she was going to be sending on my behalf] how I am neither gender.  The title will speak for itself, and people can ask me if they want.”  The principal nodded.  It felt very much like we had agreed on this.  She had told me that it could say whatever I wanted although she would like there to be some uniformity with everyone else’s.  Mx. seemed perfect.  I assumed there was follow-through on this.

As the months went by and I still didn’t have a name on the door (my supervisor had ripped off my old one), I wondered what was a reasonable amount of time to wait before asking what’s going on?  But then I was out of work in May for mental health reasons.  And then it was summer, and stuff like that doesn’t get done over the summer.  I again had a new co-worker.  I decided I would just ride in on his coat-tails.  It would be easier, and that was the route I preferred to take at that time.  And sure enough, within the first couple of weeks of school starting back up in September, he got his name on the custodial door.  And I still didn’t.  It was Mr. [last name].  I went to the administrative assistant that day and asked about my name.  She apologized for not adding mine to the order, and she said she’d order it right then and there.  I gave her a piece of paper where I had written it out, so there’d be no confusion:  Mx. [last name].

It took 2 months, but it finally came in 2 weeks ago, but it was all wrong.  I checked the custodial mail slot like I do most days, and I was appalled to see two new name plates:  one for me and one for my co-worker – both of them were our first and last names.  No titles at all.  My ears turned red, my pulse quickened.  I paced around a little, trying to move forward with my work while processing this.  The principal was still in her office, adjacent to the hall where these mail slots are.  I started to gear up to approach her, but then I hesitated, thinking I should wait until I’m more levelheaded.  I didn’t get a chance to decide because right in that moment, she left.

My first, more general thought was that this is disrespectful in a classist sense.  Why should ours be the only names that don’t have a title with them.  Other thoughts spiraled out from there, most prominently, “I don’t want to have to deal with this!”

When the name got put on the door, I told my co-worker that’s not what I wanted.  (He failed to change out his name plate, so mine was the only one with a first name).  I then told the administrative assistant, and she said this was the principal’s decision.  Which I already figured; I just didn’t want to talk to her!  For 5 days in a row, I gathered myself to go talk to her, only to be met with her on her way out the door right in that moment.  So finally when passing her in the hall on the 6th day, I asked, “Can I talk to you before you leave today?”

That worked!  I talked to her and it was no big deal on her end.  I wrote out what I wanted, for a third time, and she said it’d be ordered the following day.  Which was yesterday.  We’ll see how long it takes this time around; at this point it’s been over a year!