All this mendacity

Thick as (a) Brick - Source: Wikipedia

I have come to think of my workplace as similar in social structure and cultural milieu to the one represented in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof--either play or movie version, all y'all take your pick.

The head of our entity is indeed a Son of the South, one of the Caucasian persuasion and of a class accustomed to leading and ruling based primarily on privilege. While I can talk Southern with the best of them and am as pale as an Osmond's buttocks, I am definitely not a member of the landed class. I'm not denying that I benefit from white privilege--I most certainly do, probably in ways that I don't even realize. However, I don't think I've ever felt entitled to anything. Honestly, I'm too insecure in this world and unsure of myself to be acting out plantation and private academy fantasies. And too damn cynical.

So I like to think of our fearless leader as Big Daddy.

Hey, it's that or Foghorn Leghorn.

My more immediate overseer is obviously Brick, stressed out, unsure of which end of the stick to grab onto, all the while straining to live up to Big Daddy's vision. And BD is all about the vision thing.

And who am I? Maggie the Cat? Mewling, frustrated, repressed, ambitious.

Perhaps, but perhaps I'm more akin to Gooper and Mae, Brother Man and Sister Woman: (And, really, what was Tennessee Williams on when he came up with those nicknames?) More grasping and slightly White Trash when compared to Brick and Maggie.

I am definitely not Big Mama. This much I know. I simply refuse to play a character that old.

Alas, at the end of the day, I suspect I'm more of a "hand," either confined to the house or the field. Repressed, yes, but no matter. I just do what I'm supposed to do: Keep things running with no muss or fuss, nary a whine nor a whimper.

All the while looking for my chance to escape.