Misogynists Can Make You Fret
(I’m a female musician and own most of my own equipment. While I can’t fix things myself, I do usually know what’s wrong, though most people assume I don’t. In this case, I am 18 and need to get the pickups in my vintage electric guitar rewired. I’ve taken it to a local shop that also does repairs.)
Clerk: “Can I help you?”
Me: “Yeah, I called earlier about my ’72 SG. There’s a faulty connection and the pickups need to be rewired to the toggle switch.”
Clerk: “Are you sure? You probably just had it turned up too loud.”
Me: “No, I’m sure. Can you fix it?”
Clerk: “…Probably. I’ll give you a call when I’ve looked at it…”
(Three days later, they call me back.)
Clerk: “Hey, I looked at the pickups and there’s nothing wrong. You just need to keep the volume down.”
Me: “That shouldn’t matter. Are you sure?”
Clerk: “Yeah. Just come get it.”
(This isn’t the first time I’ve been dismissed at this shop, so I decided to bring my 6’2″ father.)
Clerk: “So you’re here for the guitar?”
Me: “Yeah. Can you explain again what’s wrong?”
(I’m expecting the same simple explanation about the volume, but instead the clerk launches into complex explanation of the problem.)
Clerk: “…and so the pickups were originally wired backwards. I’ll need to take them apart and redo it.”
My Dad: “Then why did you say there was nothing wrong?”
Clerk: “Well, it’s vintage. The parts are hard to replace.”
My Dad: “…But can you do it?”
Clerk: “…Yeah.”
My Dad: “Then why aren’t you?!”
(That was six years ago, and the wiring is still faulty!)
