The alarm goes off, but my eyes are already open from the excitement. Today is the day we go to Palm Springs for Modernism Week.
I heart Palm Springs. From it’s glamorous old Hollywood getaway history, to it’s near perfect weather year round to the immaculate architecture of the mid-century era.
At the airport I reluctantly walk up to the self check-in kiosk (why should I do a job that someone else is being paid for?) and try following the instructions. Immediately I’m faced with a bizarre selection: gender. As a gay man well aware of the fluidity of gender I’ve met a lot of people who would find this simple question annoying. First off, what the fuck does it matter what gender I am for me to check into a flight to go to Palm Springs? ‘Male or Female’. Those were the choices. God forbid I don’t fit into one of those two very narrow categories that the airline has so thoughtfully laid out for me. I roll my eyes, click ‘male’ and move on.
The airline rep hands us a form to fill out. Name, address, citizenship etc. I notice on the form that Shaun and I, who are engaged and living together, only have to fill out one form because we live in the same household. The flight rep confirms that if we live together, that’s all we need to do. Great! Less paperwork for us to do.
So we check in, go through the first security check point and look back at the growing number of travelers behind us. We stand in a long line until finally it’s our turn and together we walk up to the customs agent, a small, hard-looking woman with poorly-applied make up.
She looks at Shaun and I with a question mark expression. “Are you two related?”
“No.”
“Then you have to come up separately.”
“But we live together. And the form says…”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“But we’re engaged.”
“We don’t recognize that.”
“You don’t? How about when we get married? Will you recognize that?”
She nods yes but at that moment I doubt very much that they will.
I am now forced to backtrack through the growing customs line, past the security check point all the way to check-in to grab another form, to fill it out independently of my live-in fiance. I can’t help but wonder if we would have been granted access as a man and a woman. Looking back, maybe I should have ticked that I was a Woman at the self check-in kiosk?
I finally make my way through Customs (as a single man, according to the form) to meet Shaun waiting on the other side. We board and enjoy an easy flight and eventually begin our descent into Palm Springs.
The flight attendant comes on the speaker to welcome us to California and tells us to look out the plane on the right side. “There the men will see Palm Spring’s famous golf courses, and, if you ladies will look out on the left side, you’ll see Macy’s”.
Really? Men play golf and women shop? Period? More narrow, dated thinking. Another box to try to shove us into. Men play golf and women shop. Not in my world! In fact it’s very much the opposite.
After all of these forced gender roles and failure to acknowledge my relationship, all I could think of as Shaun and I disembarked after landing and walked through the Palm Springs airport was ‘Modern Family… Coming Through!’
Eddie or Jerry? Which is which? 
