Rust: A Memoir of Steel and Grit

by Eliese Colette Goldbach

If there was a difference between me and Amelia, it was this: I was, in fact, the right kind of woman. This wasn’t exactly a compliment. When the men blamed me for the incident with the forklift, I wanted to tell all of them that it wasn’t my idea. I was the one who’d noticed the rising tracks. I had been smart this time around, and they were simply making assumptions based on my gender. I didn’t dare say anything, though. I sensed that many of the men in the mill wouldn’t take kindly to a woman who accused them of being somewhat sexist. Even if I explained my position in a polite, rational way, I was pretty sure that it wouldn’t go over well. At best, I might get an eye roll. At worst, I might be ostracized. If I wanted to save face with the old-timers, then I had to take the fall for the two other Orange Hats. Afterward, I decided to work even harder to prove that I was better than what the men assumed of me. As it turned out, the right kind of woman was the kind who didn’t protest too much.