Why is your blog called, TheBigBlondeBrain?
This is a question I get asked very, very frequently. It can be assumed that I titled my blog based on the obvious: I have big blonde hair.
Well, while that may be true, it is not what inspired the blog.
In fact, TheBigBlondeBrain was started at a bar.
I had just graduated college and was working at a local bar and grill.
This restaurant is surrounded by hotels and business parks. So, you can imagine when someone is trying to impress their big boss who flew in from out of town, they always came to this restaurant to show them a good time.
Basically, on any given weeknight, this restaurant is flooded with business gatherings.
One night while working behind the bar I had a few gentlemen come sit and order some drinks. It was late – roughly 10:30 PM – and they were still dressed in their suits, so I could only assume they had been to dinner and were popping in for a night cap (lucky me).
They sat down and while I was helping another guest, I made sure to wave at them to let them know I would be with them in a moment. From the corner of my eye, I watched one man put his hand in the air and snap. I didn’t take this offensively because I don’t think he meant for me to see it which can only mean he was trying to make a joke (a stupid one).
When I finally got to them they quickly ordered a round of our most expensive scotch.
The night sort of went on like any night-out-for-drinks goes. You have those first two and it’s all laughs and jokes, you have the next drink and it’s time for a deep, meaningful conversation, and when you are teetering on the edge of ordering another drink and decide to go for it, things can get out of hand.
They ended up being the last ones sitting at the bar when we were getting ready to close up for the night.
I was stocking the beer cooler when I heard a whistle, the kind of whistle you hear when you are trying to get someone’s attention. After finishing off a bottle of Glenfiddich, I was lucky the worst that had happened was a whistle, so I didn’t let it bother me much.
I walked over to the men and asked if they were ready for their bill. That question was ignored. The man that whistled proceeded to ask me where I went to school.
“I graduated in December from UNC Charlotte”, was my response.
“What is your degree in?”, he asked.
I explained to him that I had my degree in Communication Studies with a Public Relations emphasis.
This apparently warranted a gush of laughter from all men, one of whom said, “that’s what they all get”, which confused me. Upon further reflection I think he was pointing out that a public relations degree is typically acquired by females, the sorority type (which is insulting on a whole other level).
After they stopped laughing about my incredibly well-earned degree, the
asshole man who asked me about my degree started up a conversation with me about what I knew about what was going on on the news.
There was something major going on at this time, something that was constantly on the news and in the media. It had something to do with politics, I know that (this part is a little fuzzy due to the incredible amount of focus it was taking me to remember that I could not get fired from this job for jabbing an ice pick into this man’s throat).
I went on to discuss my views and opinions regarding the situation, at which point, halfway through my remarks, he turned to his friends and went, “DAMN!”
It wasn’t the kind of “damn” you’re thinking.
It wasn’t “damn, good answer”, it was more like he had bet his buddies that I wouldn’t know what he was talking about.
I snickered, (literally the only thing I could do not to show the anger I was feeling) when he turned to me and said, “alright, you pass!” and the room filled with laughter.
I asked if I could get them anything else before I walked away and was answered back with, “No you just stand there and look pretty”.
I walked away when I heard another one of them shout at me, “hey blondie! I’ll take a Budweiser, that’s the brown bottle!”
I walked back over to deliver the beer and, with no reason behind it, the man began to ask me what the capitals were of several states.
I was not sure why he was asking me that so I answered him for the first 2 until I peeked to my left and saw that for each capital I had named, this man would hold up a finger.
He was counting how many I could guess correctly.
Finally, I handed them their check, took their money, and left.
I got in my car, so full of rage, I could not even drive. I looked at myself in the mirror, with tears in my eyes.
“Casey, what are you doing! Why are you crying?”, I thought.
Really though, what did I have to feel bad about? I am a woman who takes care of herself inside and out, is well-educated, and is working to pay her mortgage.
So I wear makeup, dress nicely, and have big blonde hair. Are those the international symbols for someone with no brain?
I wiped those tears away and smiled to myself. That was the last time I was going to let anyone make me feel so low.
Those men assumed that because I was a woman, with the “dumb blonde” hair, that I was just that. A dumb blonde.
Someone just to look at. Someone to entertain them with her stupidity.
I have spent my entire life dealing with the jokes. I was done.
I am a woman with genuine thoughts, rational opinions, and high standards. I am not going to just “stand there and look pretty”.
There is more behind this blonde hair and face full of makeup.
It was time to show people that there was more in my brain than the Kardashians and Dancing with the Stars.