Recently, we had a giant company meeting. The entire office came and it was awesome. The room was electric, and it was the first time since I’ve been working in New York City that everyone got to see everyone else. I got the chance to speak on stage about my very young career, which was incredibly humbling.
I almost didn’t make it though. Twenty minutes earlier, I had someone put their hand into my chest, demand my ID, and refuse me re-entrance into our private and well-decorated room because I didn’t look like a LinkedIn employee*.
(*For clarity, the individual who violated my personal space and dignity was not a LinkedIn employee.)
It’s an odd thing to be humiliated and celebrated at the same time.
I had gotten to the venue early to rehearse. Like most publicly accessible buildings, the screening process was fairly stringent. They search your bag, and there’s generally a full pat down. I am in fact an ambivert, so I relish moments of silence before engaging with large groups. I walked down the stairs from our private room to do a bit of exhaling and get more of my bearings. I had my LinkedIn tee shirt on and my ID badge clearly dangling from a belt loop.
As I made my made my way back to the entrance to the private room, I felt a hand immediately enter my chest and stop my progress.
Them: Where are you going?
Me: I’m going back to the LinkedIn event.
Them: Do you work there?
Me: Yes, I work there. I just walked down the stairs five minutes ago and I have the exact same shirt that the 4 people on that escalator have. (I was pointing to the right.)
Them: Let me see your ID.
Me: I had to show my ID to get into MSG, and had my bag searched, and went through a full pat down. This is my ID, with the LinkedIn logo on it.
Them: (peering at the ID). Is this really you?!
Me: Yes. Why would I lie about where I work, and what I’m doing here?
Them: Do you have another form of ID?
Me: (pulling out license). Yes.
Them: (holding it in the light). Is this you?
This would have continued indefinitely, but a co-worker said my name while they were halfway up the escalator. My adversarial contact looked up, determined I was in fact, who I said I was, was not posing a threat, and due to this external validation from someone trustworthy, let me pass. This ordeal was quick, but it’s taken me much longer to process. Someone else had to prove who I was for me to be accepted into somewhere I’d already been.
I had “all the right things” on. LinkedIn t-shirt with a giant logo? Check. LinkedIn ID clearly hanging from my belt loop? Tattoos properly covered? Of course. But none of that mattered because I didn’t look like I belonged there. There was no way for me to look like I worked hard, dress more appropriately, smile more or remove the bass from my voice. I wasn’t welcome anymore.
I’ve been blessed to have incredible educational and professional opportunities. I started my career in a world-class rotational program at a great company. I don’t have a criminal record (nor did the mistakes I’ve made ever result in them getting documented permanently). I pay my taxes (and loans). I’m not a disgruntled employee, I have a great relationship with my manager, and I enjoy my job.
Being ‘respectable’ will never, ever save me though. It won’t even get me inside an event I was already at.
This type of interaction has been happening with unprecedented frequency since my adolescence began, and I don’t see it stopping in the foreseeable future. What I’d like to stop though, is the idea that this happens in a vacuum, or that it’s an isolated occurrence, or that personal success and accolades are enough to shield people from what occurs when their work and life collide.
In this specific scenario, I opted to compartmentalize and just get where I was already going. I reentered the room, made conversation, sat on stage, smiled, laughed, and for all intents and purposes, performed under duress. My work and life at that moment were incredibly inharmonious. I told myself I’d deal with it later. At least there, I had people who knew who I was and appreciated that.
I spend a good portion of my day solving problems at work, but I often get treated and labeled as one outside of it.
It’s a feeling I can’t quite give you, unless you’ve had someone try to take your dignity from you, and you have to negotiate because of their personal feelings or prejudices. These are very real outcomes and realities that people engage with daily and are still doing exceptional work in spite of it. That does not make it any less painful or exhausting.
* * *
We are the stories we tell, but sometimes we ignore the ones that are ugly, uncomfortable, and disrupt our environment. It’s easier that way. We can bury things but that doesn’t make them any less real. The voices we might not hear have some of the most important narratives. The key is figuring out how to listen.
My most enjoyable moments at work, are the ones where I get to teach what I’ve learned. There are always droves of students coming into our offices eager to learn, grow, and see what’s possible for their burgeoning careers.
These students have no lack of ambition and generally they have more raw intelligence, motivation, grit and ideas than I possess.
Their aversion or hesitancy to the tech world (especially those from underrepresented backgrounds) stems from no shortage of willpower, but a mindset:
“It’s nice, but I don’t think it’s for me.”
“Nobody where I’m from ever does this kind of stuff.”
“I don’t have anyone to teach me.”
I spend much more time telling them that they matter and that their dreams are valid than I do showing them how to build their profile. The latter they can learn, but the former has to be affirmed for anything else resonate.
As bad as my experience was, these anecdotes I hear from students are far worse. Access isn’t just about the room. It’s about what you see once you get there, how accessible that reality is to you, and the knowledge that’s facilitated to help you stay and go into other rooms. If we opt out of that conversation and the steps and opportunities that need to follow to actualize it, the outcomes are dismal at best. I’m not comfortable living in a world where the future doesn’t think it’s good enough to be involved in the present. I don’t think I’m the only one either.
This post originally appeared on LinkedIn.
