my biologically female body is sore.

I worked the KISS show the other night. they offered me tix! but I was too tired to take them up on it. (also, no one I texted wanted to go. what gives? it's KISS!). they/them being my boss, not KISS themselves, tho I did catch a few songs of their afternoon sound check, all decked out in plain clothes. it's one of the great perks of my career in Stage Hand, seeing behind the scenes stuff, getting free/$3 tickets. it's a trade off for slaving away, hauling kilometers of cable, pushing around gear boxes thrice my size, dealing with Road Crew Dudes till 2am-ish.
Road Crew Dudes, the ones who work on bigger, arena sized shows, are an interesting breed of human. I understand the ease with which one can find themselves acting crotchety/gruff. I mean, their job isn't the easiest. but for reals, you don't have to verbally innuend other's lives as being lesser than thou cretins. news flash: we are just like you. 'cept we don't know what we are doing because, oh wait, we are waiting for you to direct us. that goes out specifically to that one Lighting Dude who I was not stuck working for, thank you, lucky stars.
but anyways, for being such a Dude's club, I work with some great non-Dudes. maybe being in Seattle has a bit to do with it, but at one point during load in, I was working with one (ok, I am totally assuming) straight (but you would too if you saw him) not too much of a Dude dude, one older trans guy, and one my age-ish trans woman. wow, what are the odds of that? Seattle rules. my union siblings rule for being so accepting/not openly assholes about it.
Road Dudes (Bros?) from So-Cal, not so much use to the gender variety that grows so well in this weather. at one point I found myself standing with Stage Dude, who earlier had been "discussing" trans woman with Sound Dude ('her hands were bigger than mine!'), and he asked me what her gender was. or, more specifically, 'that's a guy, right?' honestly, honesty got the best of me. 'well,' I began, 'biologically, yes male, but she identifies as female.' those words precisely did not go over as well as I had hoped and I think they reached his brain in the mutated form of 'yeah, that's a dude.' to which he replied something to the effect of 'eh, he's a wanna be.' sigh.
dear fellow queer union worker, while I did indeed try my best under the put on the spot circumstances to be there for you, I recognize that my efforts fell really really short of their intended mark and will try harder next time by replying with a firm, resolute, 'no, she is a woman. she not wanting to be anyone other than who she is. where do you want this cable to plug into?'

M., O.W., I'm glad you are here.