Nine to Five
Ten minutes before my alarm is set to go off, I can hear the giggles of anticipation outside my bedroom door. Today is the day my nine-year-old daughter has her biography report at school. Of all the people in the world, she chose Dolly Parton. A mini skirt and cheap blonde wig are waiting for us down on the kitchen table. A ukulele will substitute as a guitar for her small frame. Still waiting for my coffee to brew, I manage to pin her hair up underneath the wig as she eagerly dips her fingertips into some frosted blue eye shadow.
“Workin’ nine to five, da-da-da-da make a livin!” I smile as I watch her belt it out in the mirror while brushing her teeth. Last night, by total coincidence, that song had played while Elizabeth Warren made her entrance onto the makeshift stage in Detroit.
They just use your mind and they never give you credit
It’s enough to drive you crazy if you let it.
My friend and I stood there, our tired feet feeling the concrete beneath us. Both of us living that gig-economy life, with five young children between us. She had come straight from work; I drove up after another IEP meeting for my oldest child. We were among the 2000 people crammed into the Eastern Market, and we cheered loudly as Warren spoke on the struggles women face on a daily basis in this country, and more importantly, her plans to eradicate them. Why take the trouble to show up and show support? For months, we watched the press and media completely ignore Warren. Her ideas and campaign have been concrete. Was it because she was so consistently solid in debates that eventually people stopped even commenting on her? She called out sexism. She confronted face-to-face her competitors on derogatory things they had said about women; comments on a woman never being able to be elected president, referring to women as “fat broads” and “horse-faced lesbians.” These are words from men who shared the stage as members of a handful of hopefuls left to win the democratic candidacy. When they denied it, she did not back down.
They let you dream just to watch ’em shatter
You’re just a step on the boss-man’s ladder
But you got dreams he’ll never take away
A billionaire swept in and, for no other reason than having piles of cash, earned more votes than she did in several states. People cheered when she got him to release women from non-disclosure agreements, but they didn’t show up to vote for her. Everyone loves a good story about a self-made rich man, because it gives them hope that they can do the same (unlikely). Nobody is impressed with a woman who has balanced single-motherhood, education and career, because that is a stark reality with which so many of us are already well-acquainted. If men cannot aspire to be it, they have little interest in supporting it. At the end of the day, even if people don’t like the terrible things men say about women, too many also don’t see it as something that prevents them from having the ability to lead the country. And that is a huge issue.
9 to 5, yeah they got you where they want you
There’s a better life, and you dream about it, don’t you?
It’s a rich man’s game no matter what they call it
And you spend your life puttin’ money in his wallet
Women didn’t disagree with her, but they didn’t support her either. They may have secretly appreciated and admired her bravery, but they didn’t show up and vote. “Dream big, fight hard.” That was what was plastered all over the signs waving throughout the crowd. By this time in the evening, many of us in attendance were aware that the numbers trickling in for Super Tuesday were not in our favor. We chanted together, not out of delusion, but because we wanted to move the needle just a little more.
“Do you think I can be a famous singer some day?” my daughter asks me as she slips on her shoes.
“If that’s what you want to do, I bet you can.”
“Yeah, I can do ANYTHING if I really want to!” Her big, blue eyes sparkle from underneath her wig and she dances over to the car, singing the one phrase of the song she knows, over and over, “Nine to five, what a way to make a livin!”
What a way, indeed.
