The year: 2005. The city: New York. The place: a nice restaurant — the kind with bathroom attendants who hand you a towel after you finish your business. I was having dinner with some LGBT colleagues when I excused myself and headed to the facilities — one labeled for men, the other for women, facing each other across a small hallway. Between them stood an employee, who looked me up and down and opened the men’s room door for me.
How polite? Hardly. Instead of thanking him, I explained how presumptuous he had been in deciding my bathroom preference for me. I tried in vain to explain how “gender identity” (the way individuals perceive themselves) is different from “biological sex” (generally indicated by a person’s genitalia, or sex assigned at birth).
Apparently, delivering lectures to working class people for being insufficiently PC is the very definition of Civility to the Gay Left.
To normal folks, it’s just obnoxious.
Seriously, any pretentious twit who sees an act of politeness as an opportunity to lecture on political correctness (thereby signaling their PC superiority) is a douchenozzle. Full stop.
If any social juicebox wanker asks me (as they are taught to ask) “What pronoun should I use for you?” My response will be, “How dare you! I refuse to let you objectify me and deny my humanity be reducing me to a pronoun in service of some political agenda. It’s degrading and dehumanizing and I refuse to participate.”