Electric sexism
As a woman you get used to having to prove yourself above and beyond men, who are much more often believed on their word. When visiting my new apartment and negotiating its purchase price, one of the things I noticed immediately was the state of the electrical outlets in the kitchen. One was right next to the sink drain (as in one centimeter behind it), another was right next to the sink, and for the clothes and dish washers, an extension cord had been used. Not a heavy-duty one, just a regular extension cord. The refrigerator had also been plugged into the extension cord. When I pointed out that the outlets by the sink were not only not to code, but also downright dangerous, and that I was surprised a fire hadn’t been started by the extension cord, my real estate agent — a young man — laughed derisively and said, “mais qu’est-ce que vous en savez ? Vous êtes une femme !” (”What do you know about that? You’re a woman!”) I repeated that the outlets were not to code and for good reason, they were dangerous. “Oh mais ouiiii, mais moi je suis agent immobilier et je peux vous dire, madame, que je vois ça partout. Ah ha ha.” (”Oh yeah whatever, I’m a real estate agent and can tell you, ma’am, that I see this everywhere. Ah ha ha.”) I stared at him as if he were mad, and insisted that all of the outlets would need to be redone. He still refused to believe me. A few minutes later, when I took out my measuring tape, he again laughed and said that a woman didn’t need such a nice one.
I then pointed out that my entire family is in construction. He chuckled and said it was clear I was the exception. I wanted to rip off his head. Parents, grandparents, uncles, cousins… the majority of them work in a construction-related field. I learned to use a hammer not too long after I learned to read, and a handsaw as soon as I was old enough to understand its risks. I’ve used measuring tapes ever since I can remember. Would a man need to give all those explanations?
Two weeks ago an état des lieux (condition report) was done for the apartment, required for the 0% loan. The inspector remarked that all of the electrical outlets in the kitchen had to be redone to code before he could give his OK. I phoned an electrician, who visited along with a different agent from the same real estate agency. This agent, although older and more mature, nonetheless laughed as well when I said the outlets by the sink had to be removed and that the extension cord downright frightened me. He called over the electrician and said, “please comfort the little lady and tell her everything’s all right.” The electrician looked at the drain outlet first: “oh my GOD! That HAS to go!” “Merci…” I smiled politely. He then looked up, to the outlet near the sink. “Uhh yeah, that has to go too,” he said. He then looked straight at the agent and said, “the lady was right.” I grinned and laughed in a gesture of gratitude. Then I pointed to the extension cord. “What’s this extension cord for?” he asked. The agent said, “oh you know, they plugged in their washing machine, dishwasher and refrigerator there. You can see how they made an outlet for the refrigerator from another cord. Pretty good idea, eh?” The electrician’s face went white.
The real estate agent held his ground and said that the extension cord seemed fine to him. I firmly said that it had to go, since washing machines need dedicated circuits. The electrician looked at me appreciatively and confirmed, quoting France’s electrical code. He knew it much better than I (naturally!), and had excellent ideas for what to do with the kitchen.
The photo above may look complicated, but it’s a simple TSX Micro PLC (Programmable Logic Controller) wired to an electrical and pneumatic setup that turns on some lights and powers a piston according to a program I wrote. Guess who drew up the wiring plan and wired it? Yours truly. (Yes. By myself. From start to finish.) I also have a basic electrical certification from when I was a technical writer for a major PLC manufacturer. I don’t know why I should need to say that. I don’t understand why, as an intelligent human being, my perfectly reasonable statements about electricity weren’t taken for the good sense they are. I don’t get why, when doubted, they didn’t simply say “oh, I’m not sure” and then look it up themselves in the abundant, free reference literature available, rather than making me out to be clearly in the wrong for… having a second X chromosome rather than a Y?!
April 7th, 2008 at 00:28
I know what you mean. I worked in circuit city and some customers came up to me at the register and then to themselves asked some question about a product. I looked at it and told them the answer. They seemed a bit untrusting so I politely told them they could ask another sales clerk to confirm. They found a guy, he seemed a bit confused but then discovered the answer I had given on the box. Satisfied with his agreement, they returned and bought it. I knew it was because of my gender that they didn’t accept my answer. It really annoyed me.
April 7th, 2008 at 05:46
I think estate agents the world over are like that - all women are treated in a patronising manner, and all properties are perfectly fine.
You should take the electrician’s contact details in case you need one in the future - it’s always great to find a tradesman who treats you seriously! You might also ask him if he knows any good plumbers. As a Homeowner (doesn’t it sound wonderful!), you now have control over what work is done, when it is done, and best of all, who does it. As a tenant, I’ve had some very rude tradesmen in my home over the years.
Isn’t it great to think you won’t need to have anything to do with estate agents for a very long time?
April 7th, 2008 at 19:21
hammy ugh :/ it’s always so unnerving…
anne, it’s not just real estate agents, far from it (as I’m sure you know!). I’ve certainly kept the electrician’s info, I appreciated how straightforward he was. And unfortunately the deed isn’t to be signed officially until June, so I will have to deal with my agents some more (sigh).
As a tenant I’ve been quite lucky, the only tradesmen in my apartment have been my landlords, who are pretty handy with all things :) Heck, they even lent me a laptop for several weeks when I was computer-less, and rescued me with their spare set of keys one day that I’d locked myself out…
April 12th, 2008 at 01:09
Don’t know how I stumbled on your site (an expat link maybe?) but I’ve read it on and off for but never commented. As a woman I can totally relate to your circumstance. we’ve all been there at one point or another. How utterly frustrating! So glad you were vindicated by the electrician………….
May 13th, 2008 at 22:52
I spent eight nights in Nice, visiting terrific tourist sites there and nearby, as part of a tour group. I had expected to find toilet paper about like old newspapers, but that and everything else I encountered differed little from that in the U.S., except that the face towels at the Hotel Splendid (correct spelling) were superior, sewn so they fit the hand like a glove, which made face washing easier.
I encountered nothing like the wiring in your apartment. One would have to be colossally ignorant or stupid NOT to recognize the wiring was defective. Modern appliances had arrived and some user had taken a cheap shortcut to wiring them. The real estate agents, like the previous owner, wanted to take a seemingly easy path and leave you to get the place rewired before you occupied it. I can;t imagine they did not recognize that the wiring was dangerous.
Alas, stupid attitudes, comments, and stupidity “tout court” are human, and not confined to either sex, or gender. I was once with a group of women and the subject of cancer arose. The talk quickly turned to breast cancer. One said that I could not possibly understand how painful and difficult that was. My mother died of breast cancer in 1951, when I was a teen-ager. ‘Nuff said.
I was disappointed that the French have killed off Provençal. I saw Provençal on public buildings in Nice and nearby, but sadly, it’s a dead language, unlike Catalonian, though Franco tried to kill it. Still, Nice is a lovely city, especially clean, with pleasant, hospitable people, and I was pleased that I was not alone in attending Mass, as I had feared. I also found a Subway near the hotel, which let me eat a couple meals. Perhaps some restaurants offer lowfat foods, but I didn’t have the time to find them.
May 13th, 2008 at 22:57
Oops. I omitted the time of my visit to Nice and the French Riviera: March of this year. We visited Fragonard in Grasse and I found terrific Teddy bears at a store in St. Paul de Vence. My grandnieces are happy about those visits.
May 14th, 2008 at 09:39
I had written a long reply to that, because it’s quite similar to other emails from men I’ve had (I say “men” on purpose, no women have replied like that), but it boils down to this: It’s astonishing that the real estate agent’s remarks “what would you know, you’re a woman” and “a woman doesn’t need a nice measuring tape” are completely disregarded.
I never said the real estate agent wasn’t generically rude. He was also specifically sexist. Put in other words: his rudeness and “sales technique” took a specifically misogynist tack. This is the problem. Had he wanted to dismiss the electrical work, there are myriad ways he could have done so without being sexist. I wrote about this experience, and not others, for the very fact that a “real estate agent” is anonymous and yet everyone can relate to the label. I’m not going to write about identifiable individuals here. I experience this kind of shitty, cowardly, underhandedly sexist remark all the time, and not just from real estate agents; a dismissal of intelligence/competence/knowledge/etc. out of hand because I’m a woman. Every woman experiences this. It’s everywhere. (Not to say that all men are like that — they aren’t, thank goodness. But this sort of experience is common.) It would be great for this to be recognized so that people could think about why it’s “acceptable”, consciously or unconsciously, for someone to use sexist language to “do their job”. Because it’s not acceptable.