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Author’s note: All names have been changed in this post to protect the innocent, the misguided, the unknowing, and the attractive.

Regardless of which blog I’ve ever written on, I’ve always been very careful to not go into depth too much with information that could make me easily identifiable to Internet users. I figured that if I ever said anything that might rub my boss(es) the wrong way, I wouldn’t want to come up with some silly excuse like, “Huh? I had no idea that the World Wide Web was worldwide!”

But, given what happened to me at work last week, I’ve come to the realization that it doesn’t really matter after all. Why? Well, because people at work know less about me than anyone else anyway. Moreover, they’ve filled in all information gaps with their own thoughts about me, whether those thoughts are accurate or not.

What makes it tough to swallow is the idea that perception is reality. However one person perceives another, the other person thus becomes that perception. For instance, if Person A thinks that Person B is a drug-using alcoholic who spends all his/her time looking for the next high, Person B thus becomes that person to Person A whether Person B is really a drug-using alcoholic looking for the next high or not. If Person C views Person D as a loving, caring parent, Person D thus becomes that image whether he/she really is.

What is upsetting is that situations like these have—and might continue to—affect all kinds of relationships, whether they’re platonic or romantic.

Just before the summer break in 2008, I had two coworkers tell me that they knew of another coworker who was “perfect” for me to start dating. At first I was caught off-guard, because at that time I really hadn’t discussed too much personal information with either of them. When I asked, “Who is my perfect match?” they quickly told me about Jamie: a down-home, traditional, ultra-conservative, devoutly religious, red-white-and-blue, meat-and-potatoes, baseball-and-apple pie, all-American girl. (Okay, I do love baseball, but you get my drift.)

With the look of bewilderment still on my face, I inquired, “Why exactly would the two of us be ‘perfect’?” I was then told that we’d “look cute” together. I inquired again with, “Cute how? What do we have in common?” After a moment of hesitation, I was told, “You’d look cute together. She’s nice.” I was thinking, So is my brother, but I’d never date him.

I later learned that one of my relatives previously worked with Jamie, and I asked, “What can you tell me about Jamie? I have two coworkers who insist that we’d be perfect together.” Fortunately, my relative didn’t have food in her mouth at the time, otherwise it would have ended up all over me, given that the relative laughed so hard. She answered, “I love Jamie, but you two aren’t right for each other.” I had already thought so.

As the months went by, Jamie’s name wasn’t brought up very much. Then, a few days ago, it was brought to my attention that Jamie is “interested” in me. Interested, I thought; that’s a bit odd because I don’t see her very often. And I’ll admit that I’m the type of person who thinks that it takes more than briefly saying “hello” to spark “interest.” Sure, you can have people who are physically interested in each other, but I wasn’t getting that vibe from this remark.

Here’s where my frustration with the concept of perception becoming reality enters the picture.

Since the last discussion of Jamie, which was several months ago, two more coworkers have jumped on board the Chase-would-be-perfect-for-Jamie bandwagon. Yes, four coworkers took to viewing me as a clean-cut, straight-laced, ultra-conservative, devoutly religious, red-white-and-blue, meat-and-potatoes, baseball-and-apple pie, all-American boy.

What the fuck? I thought. Where did this shit come from? And then I realized that this has probably been ongoing for many years and will continue to happen.

I still remember a classmate being shocked when he learned that I listened to Slayer while in high school. “I always figured you for nothing heavier than classical music,” he said.

Just before school started for this school year, I had a new aide walk into my library as she was getting a tour of the building from another teacher. Upon looking at me sitting at the circulation desk wearing jeans, a T-shirt, and a baseball cap, she quickly remarked, “You don’t look like a librarian.” I responded, “I try to break life’s stereotypes.”

But what happens if many people want the stereotypes to continue? What happens if stereotypes make it easier for people to view the world around them? What if stereotypes are a nice way to pigeonhole folks to fit into a nice package that is safe for intellectual consumption, thus removing any need to actually analyze each person for whom they really are?

Oh, wait—that is why we have them.

What becomes more frustrating is when people refuse to look beyond the stereotypes, even if the truth hits them square in the face. The following conversation actually took place recently between myself and my coworkers, Yvonne and Samantha.

Yvonne: You two would make a cute couple.
Me: Because she’s a nice girl?
Yvonne: She’s so nice.
Me: I’ve never said that she wasn’t.
Yvonne: Even if sparks don’t fly, you can still end up with a great friendship. Dinner won’t kill you.
Me: I’m willing to be her friend already.
Yvonne: We need to come up with a few places where you two could go for a date.
Me: I’m really not interested.
Yvonne: [Restaurant name] is a nice place and if you go during the week, there aren’t too many people in the dining area. You’d have privacy and no one would gossip.
Me: I’m not worried about the gossip. I’m not interested in dating her.
Yvonne: They have salads, too, so you wouldn’t have to order anything with meat.
Me: I’m not interested.
Samantha: She’s looking for a husband and she wants to have children. (Seriously, was this comment supposed to make me change my mind?)
Me: If I had been interested in Jamie, I would have been running around months ago asking people to find out if Jamie liked me.
Yvonne: But she does like you. (I won’t comment on this remark but I really want to.)
Me: I know that she likes me, but I keep telling you that I’m not interested in her.
Yvonne: How can you know that if you don’t start seeing each other?
Me: I’m not interested. I don’t have that desire to get to know her through dating.
Samantha: You’re not too interested, are you?

I’m not making this shit up. I wish I were, though. This is classic sitcom material.

The day, however, got even better.

Several weeks ago I participated in a personality matching questionnaire, which wasn’t designed to be romantic matches as much as it was supposed to be designed to let everyone know if someone else in our building has similar interests. The questions were rather basic, some with funny possible responses, some all serious. Two of the four coworkers who had already decided that Jamie and I were perfect for each other were happy to hear that the results of the personality match were in. They “knew” that Jamie would be in my #1 spot because—as I mentioned earlier—they had already made up their minds that we were two peas in a pod.

Upon opening the results, Samantha and Yvonne were in disbelief.

Yvonne: Jamie is your number one, isn’t she?
Me: No. Meagan is.
Yvonne: Meagan?
Me: Yes.
Samantha: That can’t be. Meagan is married.
Me: It has nothing to do with marital status; it’s strictly personality matching. They list both men and women. Just because they list men doesn’t mean that they want me to be gay.
Samantha: Why would they list married women?
Yvonne: Let me see that sheet.
Samantha: Almost all of these women are married. This can’t be right.

This is where Yvonne and Samantha read the sheet not once but three times to verify that Jamie’s name was nowhere to be found.

Samantha: She’s not even in his top-10.
Me: I told you that we had nothing in common. You didn’t believe me.
Samantha: Well...you never know...opposites attract.

I should have seen that last remark coming.

What has me worried is that if four of my coworkers have made me out to be this way, how many others have, too? How many past relationships never happened (platonic or otherwise) because someone perceived me as being something that I wasn’t?

Just recently I’ve noticed that another coworker—whom I’ll call Amanda—is going out of her way to avoid me after learning that I’m a librarian. It started with a question of, “Are you the librarian?” which was posed in a rather odd way (and it was a bit unnerving coming from an apparently otherwise intelligent, physically attractive, and supposedly single woman). As the weeks have gone by I’ve noticed Amanda turning down my attempts to help her in the media center, and when she searches the OPAC she now uses the computer that is farthest from the circulation desk. I can imagine her thinking, Please don’t flirt with me. Please don’t flirt with me. I don’t want to hear about your Star Trek DVD collection or your comic book action figure collection or what fun you have playing World of Warcraft.

Relax, Amanda. I don’t like Star Trek, I don’t have a comic book action figure collection, and I’ve never played World of Warcraft. I also don’t like knowing that I’ve essentially stereotyped my own career just now.

Now my perception has become my reality.

Ω