Gender Delivery (Chapter 1)

CW: RSD, Unintentional Misgendering

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“I guess I better pickup the phone, because you fucking called it!” I exclaimed as I shut the apartment door behind me in frustration.

My girlfriend Jess poked her head out from the kitchen. “That bad, huh?”

I fell onto the couch in defeat, and let out a groan into the faux suede cushions. It’s what I get for trying to be nice. To give someone the benefit of the doubt and hope he’d change. But no, he had to go and fuck it up for all of us. My best friend since elementary school, Brett, had invited me and bros out for drinks and a fun time at a local goth club, Night Hollow. We all agreed to meet up and hang out, but we hadn’t invited the group's designated asshole, Connor. It was decided amongst us that after he made another friend so uncomfortable at a party, we’d stop hanging out with him. The issue was, Connor was my girlfriend's brother.

“Babe, I told you, just give up on him already. That’s what I did, and trust me. My life has been so much better since.” She said.

I raised my head from the cushions, “I know but, I was hoping things would be different this time.”

She rolled her eyes as she walked into the living room with a monstrous plate of nachos. “Justin, sweetie. He’s not going to change. Once my mom died he just tried to become a clone of our Dad. There’s a lot of reasons why I cut both of them from my life. But they’re both drunk assholes who don’t really care about other people's feelings. Plain as that.”

To be honest, growing up I always wanted a sibling. My parents weren’t always around because they worked so much. Being lawyers and what not tended to keep them too busy for me. So I always just kind of felt lonely. I had Brett of course as a friend, but that was complicated. Once me and Jess started dating in high school, I was ecstatic about the possibility of having a brother. Unfortunately that brother was a real dickwad.

“You’re right. Tonight was all my fault. Poor JC looked like a deer in the headlights, and Connor just shoved him into the lion's den. I didn’t tell any of the guys that I invited him, but he practically begged me to hang out.” I sat up on the couch as Jess sat next to me.

The silence lingering in the room was deafening, and all the confirmation I needed that she didn’t necessarily disagree with my self loathing analysis. I wish I could have mended the relationship between them. But she didn’t want me to, and after tonight, neither did I.

Jess turned on the TV. “Listen, you can sit here and wallow in self pity and regret. Or you can learn, move forward, and grab another plate so we can hate-watch this movie and do to these nachos what the internet did to Sony.”

She was right. I needed to stop chasing after things that just weren't meant to be. You’d think after so much disappointment from wishing on shooting stars, broken wishbones, and one failed attempt at witchcraft, that I’d be used to disappointment by now.

I leaned back and sighed, “It’s Morbin time.”

“I’m gonna Morb all over this cheesy goodness.” She said right before chomping down on a mess of chips and toppings.

Monday, Monday, Monday! It had finally arrived. My first day at DoorHash, the up and coming cannabis delivery company. I’d been looking for a new job after bouncing around from retail hell to retail hell. I just wanted something that wasn’t gonna drain my will to live every shift, and didn’t expect me to work different hours everyday, while never knowing what I was gonna be scheduled more than a week in advance. What better place to not have stress than a weed dispensary that delivers. Ever since it was legalized here, there had been a huge influx of businesses popping up and all kinds of ads. At first, I didn’t really care. But once I caught wind of the benefits and pay, I applied to every place I could. Not to mention, employees got at least a thirty-percent discount. No more stems and seeds for this guy.

The most nerve wracking part of any job is never the actual job itself, but trying to get along with the people you have to work with. Having to adapt to a new set of people with a new set of rules always sucked harder than a roomba on battlebots. However, walking through the door and being assaulted by the dankest smell that ever graced my nostrils, my nerves dissipated.

I checked in with the front desk and Paul, the manager, came out to greet me. “Justin! Welcome to the team! Let’s get you started.” He gave me a firm handshake and led me to the back.

We walked through the showroom that looked a lot like an Apple store to be honest. I wasn’t expecting a shady backroom with Bob Marley blasting, a pushy dealer who wanted to kind of be your friend, and a random guy shouting at a video game in the corner. But I wasn’t really expecting Jay’s Electronics, but for weed. I guess it’s not something you really think about though. These places exist in all parts of the country now. It was bound to be gentrified at some point, right?

“So that was our showroom where our consultants help people find the right strain and delivery method. What you’ll be doing is taking the online orders we receive and delivering them within our district. Once we get you through orientation you can hit the road with your partner.” Paul directed me to a small computer in the corner of the backroom/employee break room.

I put on my best enthusiastic smile, “ Awesome! I can’t wait to get started!” Yeah, go me, acting like I wasn’t partially dead inside.

I got my login and began going through the slog that is new employee training videos. Yes, I know not to sexually harrass people and steal product. I mean, every company has the same spiel. ‘We’re a family. Work with a smile. Don’t embezzle money and slap people's asses.’ I mean, I guess some people need to be reminded of it. But come on, I just wanted to get paid and get cheap weed. Healthcare was also a plus. I avoided doctors like I avoided my parental abandonment issues. But I turned out fine! I had a gorgeous girlfriend and awesome friends who hung out every few weeks. Aside from more money, what could I even ask for? Well except maybe…

I shook my head and refocused on the gripping attendance policy they were going over. Nothing like a dead inside actor who couldn’t land a role as a corpse on CSI to tell me about how not showing up for work hurts the team. Go capitalism! Though, I suppose I shouldn’t be so quick to judge. I’d take a job acting like I loved showing up to work on time, being filmed throughout the entire day, and grinning as someone babbled over pointless corporate bullshit if it meant I could pay the bills. If there was a camera crew I could deadpan to, I absolutely would have right then and there.

The worst part of it all though, the grueling, painful, panic inducing small talk from my new coworkers. Everyone always asked the same question, ‘Where did you work before? What brought you here? Do you smoke? Are you from here originally?’ It was all the same copy/paste questions and answers. Not that I ever wanted actual questions. That’s where the panic came from. The off chance that someone might actually try and get to know me. I’d gotten so used to giving my rehearsed answers. My guidelines for what was appropriate around new people. My rules for what I let the people who were actually close to me know. Jess and Brett were probably the only two people in the world who knew the most about me. But building walls was my comfort, my default, my separation of who I was on the inside, versus who I showed to people. I was safe in my mind–mostly.

I was halfway through the ‘How not to be a dick to customers’ segment when Paul decided to check in on me. “Hey there Justin, how’s everything going?”

I pretended to click and pause the video and take the headphones off. I just wanted to get through it as fast as possible. “Yeah, it’s going alright. Just a lot of information.”

“I know, they try to pack so much in those things; people usually start mentally checking out by this point so I thought I’d have you meet your delivery partner. This is Moss.” He gestured to the girl who had walked up next to him.

“Oh, hey dude. Nice to meet you.” I said in my rehearsed customer service voice. It was always the best option for making a good first impression.

She rolled her eyes. “Not a dude.” Her voice was sharper than an image of a store that sold useless electronics and died out years ago. Fuck.

“Sorry, I just use dude for everyone. Guys and girls. It’s just how I refer to people.” No one had ever had an issue with it before.

“Oh yeah? So how many dudes have you made out with?” She said snarkily.

“What? I–what?” I stammered.

“Moss, that’s enough. We’re not doing this again.” Paul interjected.

I was extremely relieved because I had tried to not think about the answer to that question ever since scout camp.

“I use They/Them pronouns. I’m not your dude, not your bro, not your chica, not your gurrrrl, and not your babe. Got it?” The look on their face made me feel like I was back in elementary school, being scolded by the teacher for not understanding something.

I wanted to shrink down to the size of an amoeba. Just disappear for a bit until everyone had forgotten me and we could try and start over. Whenever someone yelled at me I always had to fight back tears. Guys weren’t allowed to cry. It was a lesson I learned over and over again. At a certain point, you get used to it. But whenever yelling was involved, it hit me like finding out about a major world event through a meme. Thanks Supernatural fandom, I’ll never get to act like I found out about the Queen of England in a normal way.

Paul turned around, “My office, now.”

They both went into the backroom and closed the door. That’s when the real conversation happened. Or, fight I should say. The door was closed but I could make out just about every word they were throwing around. So much for good first impressions.