My bosses think I’m gay.

* make us famous

I haven’t given them any reason to think otherwise. Sometimes I talk kind of gay, and I mention guys I’ve dated in casual conversations with my co-workers. But the women I’ve dated? I refer to them as “partners,” or I don’t talk about them at all.

I want my bosses to think I’m gay. My bosses are straight white leftists, and if there is one thing I know about straight white leftists, it’s that they feel guilty, guilty, guilty. They feel guilty because they know that the neo-liberal capitalist system privileges them over pretty much everyone else who isn’t wealthy.

Privilege is real, and that’s why straight white leftist bosses like to pack their offices with women and minorities. It looks good on the annual reports and makes them feel better about themselves. As a white cis guy, what do I have in the minority department—which translates to job security—besides being gay?

Do I have any reason to believe that my bosses would embrace my Bowie-esque pansexuality any less than my alleged gayness? No, but I’m not sure I want to find out. I certainly don’t feel very oppressed when I walk down the street with my girlfriend’s pale hand in my even paler hand. What if I fuck up at work and some brilliant, transgender Latina wants my job?

I haven’t always had it easy. I’ve lived the closet. I’ve been picked on and called a faggot. I’ve been terrified by the HIV pamphlets at the clinic. Hell, some guys tried to run me over with their car after mistaking me for a woman riding down the street in Vietnamese lingerie.

Still, sometimes I feel like I’m cheating, like I sucked a couple of dicks in the locker room to get a spot on field team for the Oppression Olympics. But that doesn’t mean I need to show up to work and announce that I’m also a muff diver. Sexual ambiguity has gotten me this far in life, and with the job market the way it is, I might as well keep using it to my advantage.