The hardest job a woman can ever take on is to try measuring up in this man's world. The world will never completely allow us to meet this goal. Where they allow us to succeed in one area, they will push us in the mud of another. It doesn't' matters how good we are at what we do, we are always a second-class citizen. There is always going to be The Good Old Boys Club.

Ever since I could walk, I have been working on cars with my dad. After my mom passed he opened he own shop so he could come off the road driving rigs. From time to time, I would go to the shop and help. However, If a customer brought a car in and one of the men say, "I think that's your alternator", the respond would be can you fix it. If I approach the customer with the same respond, their respond would be what time your dad will be back. It did not matter that most people knew that I was almost as good as my dad, the fact remained that I was a woman.

When I was attending college, I majored in Drafting Engineer and Architecture Design. When there were possible employers on campus they always made themselves cozy with all the men in the class and the only time they would associate with the women was if they were interested sexually. Moreover, we could tell because 10 minutes later, you could ask him what you were talking about and he would not have a clue. It did not matter if the top ten in the class were women; it was not a woman's place to be in this field of work.

Some years later, I decided to try my hand at home building and maintenance. After doing, my tour at an on hand technical school, with pride in tow I went in search of a better job. I got on with up and moving sub contracting crew. Within three months, I was the supervisor. The men really did not like this so they start to rebel. And, my counter punch was PMS. Once, no work had been done after I left the crew for a few hours, for a supply run. The house that we were working in had already had the staircase installed. I sat on a step and hung my head. One of the men asked me what was wrong. I said I am just trying to figure out some things. What is that? My respond was, would I get three months or four in the mental ward if I was to go to the car get my gun shoot a couple of people and then say it I was having PMS. I went on to say that I believe I would get 2 months, a bottle of pills, and sent on my marry way. Well, as people use to say, you didn't see nothing moving but elbows and ass holes!

Now let me see you men measure up to that!

Learn more about this author, Renee Morgan.
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