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| Good Intentions A gender awareness essay by Scott Ross employing a satirical interpretation of gender stereotypes existent in 1940’s film noir and detective stories such as The Maltese Falcon, The Big Sleep, L.A. Confidential, etc. |
| I knew it was going to be a bad day when I found the door to my office wide open as I showed up bright and early a few minutes before noon. Official office hours start at 9:00 AM, but then, I was suffering from a particularly unofficial hangover – I had just finished the Case of the Missing Plot and spent the weekend celebrating with a few close friends, Jack and Daniel. Lucky for me, whoever busted in was willing to wait despite my lackluster punctuality; in fact, they were carrying my desk out the front door as I arrived. I’m not so good at confrontation so I let my .38 revolver do the talking. He made six concise arguments as the gorillas manhandling my furniture excused themselves from the scene. We hadn’t fully expressed our point of view, but I had work to do. My name’s Dwight Davis and I’m a private snoop. I’m the guy people come to when they have a problem that they don’t feel deserves the full attention of the police, can’t say I blame them either. It’s a tough job, but then, I’m a tough guy. Inside, I found everything inside the office packed away in boxes and ready to be shipped away. Either the thieves had an unnatural interest in private detective work or there was something much more sinister going on. You make a lot of enemies in this job, but what kind of sick mind would exact revenge by cleaning out a guy’s closet? I pondered the question as I lit up a cigarette and stepped into my inner office. The first thing I noticed was the new desk. It was a brand new shiny job, the kind a guy gets when he still thinks he has a future in detective work. Then I noticed the red heels on top of desk and the legs coming out of them. Just like any good detective I took my time examining the evidence before the owner, sitting behind the desk broke the silence. “Did you just shoot the movers?!” I could tell from her demeanor that she was a classy dame, not the kind you’d expect to be mixed up with my type, but apparently she knew something about the robbery, and I had plenty of questions. “Oh my God, are they dead?” she asked, getting up. “Relax, sister, your friends got away, but before you get to anxious to go, maybe you’d like to tell me a thing or two about those thugs that were just in here. I hope they weren’t waiting for an appointment.” “You just tried to kill the movers?! What are you doing here, anyway?” She was full of questions, and I was running out of patience. “Listen, lady. I don’t know what kind of criminal considers giving me a new desk and a dame to match as revenge, but I’m plenty interested in finding out what you’re doing in my office.” “What? Your office? Don’t you read your mail?” I didn’t know what she was getting at, but I intended to find out. “Keep talking,” I prodded. |
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