The Invisible Woman

 submitted by journalist Anne Swardson:

     I landed at an airport in a big Texas city on a business reporting trip about 25 years ago. It was one of those places where you take a shuttle bus to the rental-car lot rather than walking to it.

     A man stood next to me at the bus stop and we both waved the little car folders we had picked up at the desk inside the airport. The bus stopped. We both got on. The (male) driver asked the man his parking place number, and got a response. Then he drove off.

     "Mine's number 42," I said loudly to the driver, since he hadn't asked me. No answer.

     We arrived at the rental parking lot and the bus went straight to the man's parking place. He got out and went to his car. The bus driver turned to me, quizzically.

     "Aren't you with him?" he asked.

     There are other stories like that one. Waiting to place my order at a restaurant, a nice one, for 45 minutes while the businessMEN at a table near mine ordered, got their food, ate and paid. The waitress, apologizing, said she hadn't seen me. Raising my hand at a press conference and being ignored while one male reporter after another got called on. Or being called on and then having my question not answered at all as the next male reporter jumped in.

     And, one of my favorites, standing on the outside of a circle of male journalists as they discussed the story behind the story at the press lunch we had just attended. Every time I squeezed toward someone's shoulder, he'd turn it so I was shut out. I finally just walked away.

     I do believe those days are gone. Mostly.