So, last week, a few firefighters were fired in Toronto for sexist tweets. Apparently there were repeated examples, and not just the (hilarious and incredibly stupid) quote from The Office, that was often cited in the media (“Reject a woman and she will never let it go. One of the many defects of their kind. Also weak arms.”).
These firings caused a bit of a kerfuffle, and the union has vowed to fight the dismissals. What really struck me was how infinitely fireable I am for my twitter/facebook/existence. I swear profusely and profanely, as if my entire vocabularly was learned from the back of a toilet stall door. Or from the toilets of a bar that doesn’t even HAVE toilet stall doors anymore because the 80s happened & and now you have to hover at least a foot above the toilet so as not to get ALL OF THE STIs, AGAIN, and then you pee on your shoe.
Despite my never ending use of the word fuck, and creative and novel arrangements of the words ‘cock’ ‘sucking’ ‘mother’ ‘fucking’ ‘douche’ and ‘carnie’, I do in fact edit myself. I don’t speak about my work generally, other than to post about cool stuff (and then I tend not to use our actual name). This is made vastly easier because I like my job and my coworkers are fantastic. I like my compatriots at the big curvy building down the street, and whilst some of our elected officials aren’t my personal favourites, I don’t talk about that on the internet. A few times a year my husband or my mother will email and say ‘uh, you should take that down’ and I do, albeit grumpily.
However that doesn’t matter. Even without biting (ahem) political commentary I can, obviously, still be fired for bringing my place of work into disrepute. And I’m not silly enough to think that deleting tweets is particularly effective. (OBAMAISWATCHINGMERIGHTNOW-DOYOULIKEMYSOCKSOBAMA?) So I will slowly remove the twitter account with my name, will double check everything that really should be deleted is deleted, and will use the twitter name I first adopted back in 2007, the name that corresponds to this blog which I so lazily ignore.
I have been reading through my old posts so I can be mortified and decide what to take out (I’ve left it all in, even the eye rolling, embarrassingly crappy updates), and some of it I even quite like. But holy fucking moly do I ever obsess about my fucking thighs eh? That there could be so much posting about exercise! fatness! snacks! scones! cheese! is incredibly depressing, and I vow to hereby only speak about fascinating and hilarious topics about which I am woefully misinformed and/or unreasearched. Like religion! And politics! And snacks! Fuck.
This blog isn’t a secret and although I tend not to use names, it’s not rocket science to figure out who I am. However, I figure gentle anonymity will do probably for now, I’m not running for office (yet)(and quite frankly there is no point running until the people of Toronto/Ontario/Canada are ready for some motherfucking change. And that appears not to be right now.) So! Let’s blog this shit yo! Princess of the world! Let’s do it! Again! Like, three times! Then let’s leave this and pick it up again in two years! YEAH!
(Also, this Globe & Mail article talks about the tweeting/firing thing in an interesting way, and she is probably ethically required to do way more research than me who is only ethically required to not scream out the C word at children who don’t fucking stand up on the streetcar for old people. Little Cs. Wait. Sorry. Article. Globe & Mail, what’s more offensive, the tweeting or the firing?