A Letter to a Trans Woman at a Restaurant I Go To

An Ode, a Lament

Hi. Uhh… You don’t know me. But, I suppose that’s the point of this, right? We don’t know each other, and it seems impossible that we ever will. But then, I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me start over.

Hi. My name is Galen. I’m trans too. I think you’re cool.

I’ve wanted to say that to you for a while now, but I can’t bring myself to say it.

I first saw you over a year and a half ago. At the time, I was still presenting as a man fairly regularly. Life is weird, right? Anyway, my wife and I were out to breakfast, and you were our server. I’m guessing that even back then, there were a lot of folks who read you as a cis woman. But, once you took our order, I became convinced you were trans. I spoke about it in excited but hushed tones with my wife. I pointed out the fact that you were too tall, your voice was too deep, and your shoulders were too broad for a cis woman. I pointed out that your face still had a hint of beard shadow.

I felt bad for noticing these things — I didn’t like that I was reducing a human being to a set of supposedly “incongruent” traits when compared to an “average woman” — but I was too excited to stop. Even to this day, I get excited when I “clock” someone, or read them as trans. I get excited when I clock someone because it makes me feel less isolated. It makes me feel less alone.

Seeing you made me feel less isolated. Seeing you made me feel less alone.

So throughout eating my breakfast, I glanced at you and watched you interact with the customers and your coworkers. It sounds creepy. I know. I’m sorry. I just couldn’t get enough of the fact that I had found another trans person in real life. Even better, you seemed happy and well adjusted. You were smiling constantly. Your coworkers seemed to like you. Your customers seemed to like you.

Photo by Carissa Gan on Unsplash

At one point, you laughed at something a coworker said, and I noticed your laugh was quite a bit deeper than the average cis woman’s. I became even more confident that you were trans. Even still, you didn’t seem self-conscious. In fact, I was struck by how much confidence you had. You carried yourself with an air of pride. Your posture was better than mine ever will be.

In that moment, I felt like I was a part of a community, and that my community wasn’t completely defined by the pain and anguish shared at the support group meetings I attended.

To me, you were the coolest trans person I had ever seen. I wanted to introduce myself. I wanted to yell,“Hey, I’m trans too!” I wanted to ask you to teach me your ways. I wanted to ask you if you would be my friend.

Of course, I didn’t. Even back then I knew that if I made it clear I knew you were trans, you might be offended or hurt. That’s not what I wanted. Hell, as I’m writing this I’m a little worried that you’ll run across it, recognize yourself in it, and end up offended or hurt in some way. That’s not what I want.

Regardless, for a while after that day, I wondered if you were new in town, and hoped you might pop up in one of the trans support group meetings I went to. That way, I’d have an excuse to say hello. You never did.

My wife and I continued to go out to eat at the restaurant you work at, and I always kept an eye out for you when we went. Later on, after I had started presenting as a woman for those excursions, I always hoped you’d be working and that you’d recognize me — or at least recognize the fact that I’m trans. I hoped that you’d say something. Anything. Even some sort of knowing nod would have been amazing.

But, it never happened. I saw you a few times, but you were never our server, and no words or nods were ever exchanged.

A couple months later, I went out for a “welcome lunch” with my new coworkers. I had been presenting as a woman full time for all of a week and half, and I was incredibly nervous to be talking to all of my new coworkers together over lunch. I felt very visibly trans back then — in a bad way. It impacted my confidence. I felt like I was too tall, that my voice was too deep, and my shoulders were too broad for a woman. I worried that people could see the facial hair I was having to grow out for electrolysis. I worried that everyone knew I was trans and was judging me for it.

Then I saw you. You weren’t our server, but you looked just as confident as you did before. You were smiling. Seeing you, and being reminded of how confidently you interacted with the public day to day helped me relax a little.

Since then, I’ve seen you at the restaurant a few times. But still, never as my server. Not until I went to breakfast with my wife and son today.

I was so excited when I realized that you were our server. I hoped you might clock me and comment on my shirt — which, if you know I’m trans, has multiple meanings. But you didn’t.

Maybe it’s because you see trans folks all the time. After all, you work in a pretty progressive city, and an even more progressive restaurant. I have to imagine I’m not the only trans person you see around. Hell, I may have been just one of a couple trans folks you saw today. So maybe it’s just no longer exciting to you to see another trans person. I’d like to think this is the case.

Then again, maybe you were worried about saying something for the same reason I am afraid to say something to you —not wanting to offend. I would understand that.

Or maybe you didn’t say anything because you didn’t want anyone to know that you’re trans — even other trans folks.

Of course, that would be worse — much worse.

Because then it would be clear to me that the ingrained cissexism all trans folks have to overcome in order to live our lives is often what keeps us isolated as well. I’d have to acknowledge the tragedy of the fact that even after transition, we often hate ourselves and each other on an unconscious level. At which point, I’d have to sit with the fact that cissexism isn’t just an outside force in our lives. I’d have to acknowledge that it’s like a poison that eats away at our community from the inside out — and that includes me.

Of course, all of this is true regardless of whether you wanted others — even other trans folks — to know you’re trans. The other options just make it easier to pretend. They make it easier to ignore the hole in our hearts.

Wow, that got dark for a bit there. Sorry.

For my part, I just want to say that if you ever see this and recognize me, feel free to say hello the next time you see me. Until then, this will have to do.

Hi. My name is Galen. I’m trans too. I think you’re cool.