Habitual Exclusion

I wasn’t keen to start my first day on Capitol Hill with a lecture on human privilege.

​

Monday morning found me on the blue line D.C. metro train three rows behind a vampire squashed between the train wall and a young troll. Between tunnels, rays of the rising sun peeked in the windows and the night beings raised cowls to protect themselves from it. Winter turned the air frigid, with the welcome brightness blossoming later than I liked. I bit my cheek. My opinion of the light wouldn’t resonate with my fellow passengers. Best to keep that small talk to myself.

The train pulled into Smithsonian Station with the usual grinding wheels and garbled voice announcements in five languages. The vampire climbed past the troll with a glare. I understood that with many empty seats around us. I followed him from the train to the platform but missed his sudden turn right in front of me. Our feet bumped each other, elbows flying as we both fought to catch our balance. The folder in my hand fell with a burst of papers.

“Watch it, human,” the vampire said, adding a hiss and bared teeth.

“Sorry, sir.” I raised open hands to him. “Have a good day.”

He stomped off down the tunnel. “Why would I want a good day?”

I sighed, collecting my papers, and made my way upward to street level. From there, I joined the mostly non-human traffic south toward Tidal Basin Lake. Beings of all shapes and sizes trotted, climbed, slithered, or buzzed past me on the wide sidewalks. Five years ago, the closest creature to these species was a dog or rat. The Peaceful Acceptance of Mythological Beings Act, or PAMBA, brought everything from goblins to hippogriffs into the public eye.

The growing crowd parted ahead, earning a being standing there disgruntled glares. I tried maneuvering around the being but failed, narrowly escaping a run-in with the haunches of the centaur. The PETA coat she wore and pamphlet she shoved into my hands explained the disgruntled pedestrians.

The organization took leaps forward with newfound support in the mythological community, especially from unicorns and werewolves. After, of course, the near animal species specified the difference between higher sentient beings and their lesser cousins abundantly clear. They wouldn’t let human upstarts pigeonhole them into the same class as pets and livestock.

I ascended the footbridge over Maine Ave and caught my breath at the towering new Capital Building adorning the waterline. The spires and domes alone formed a picturesque sight. Doors and meeting halls tall enough for giants and sweeping buttresses to support landing platforms for winged beings added extra grandeur. The opposite side of the building, don’t anyone dare call it the back, stretched over the waterway. This provided a second main entrance for water fairing species.

It accommodated every intelligent being. Against many loud human protesters’ predictions, the architecture captured the majesty of the United States Capitol and added to it. Relegation of the old Capitol Building to its fate as a museum was the end of an age, but the most recently included members of society were not content with cramped halls and zoom calls.

I tried not gawking at the grand entry towering twice my height. Not knowing my way to the conference room made the feat easier. With wandering and stumbling, I arrived in a room near the building’s center with land, air, and water access. The chamber provided a perfect location for today’s committee meeting of the Environmental Protection Agency.

Upon entering the room, I felt like I stepped into a fairytale book. I tucked the observation away for later since Shayla Posy, an actual faery, fluttered over the table. The hand-sized being rose on lacey wings to speak to the obsidian black scaled dragon, Nithe Kai, sitting on an oversized mat at the head of the conference table. 

At the other end of the table, Aliz Fortuna, from the unicorn herd, bobbed his head at Zorina Edra, a mermaid with a pearl-encrusted skirt over her tail. They didn’t look up from their conversation with a leprechaun I recognized as Quinn O’Shea, but no one knew if that was his real name.

I took the empty place between Quinn and Shayla’s armchair clipped to the table. They all ignored me, giving me a chance to lay my folder out on the table. A flutter of wings announced our last committee member’s arrival, a griffin called Hestia Cloudbeak. She snatched up the place beside Aliz, moving the chair so she could curl lionlike legs under her. Nithe clicked a curled nail to the table and Shayla settled in her seat.

“Let’s bring this meeting to order. I assume our newest addition knows everyone here?” he asked.

The intensity of his stare caused me to gulp. “Yes, I-”

“Excellent. We won't waste time on that. Our first matter at hand is waterway pollution. The humans had a rather high tolerance for a significant level of water pollution, relying on their technology to sanitize it before it got to their homes. Even though this was inconvenient, making clean water much harder to access, it leaves us a big problem.”

Did he cut me off from greeting my new coworkers on purpose? My mind reeled, wrestling with frustration. The others didn’t show signs of noticing the slight and dove right into the facts and figures of the United States rivers, lakes, and oceans. I fought away the distracting thoughts in time to focus on the first productive solution presented.

“Why don’t unicorns use their magic to get the water back to normal? We need a proper baseline,” Quinn said.

I jumped at the opportunity to show goodwill. “Great idea! I give it two thumbs up.”

“Pah.” Aliz tilted his accusing horn at me. “Typical human pride.”

“What’s wrong? I’m agreeing with him.”

A puff of smoke rose from Nithe’s nose.

“That phrase is not acceptable. It excludes species with less than two thumbs.”

“I’m sorry, it’s an expression I’m just used to saying.”

“Your apology is not sufficient. You will write a retracting statement and submit an official letter of grievance to your fellow board members. I'll take further disciplinary actions with any other offenses,” Nithe said.

The meeting pressed in on me and I felt I couldn’t breathe. My intent meant nothing, only their perception. That perception started with my human culture having suppressed theirs for so long it was easy to scrutinize everything as exclusive and derogatory. My slow adjustment to change my human-centric language was going to get me fired. Maybe worse.

​

“This isn’t a problem we unicorns can fix with a wave of our horns,” Aliz said.

Zorina's tail splashed the pool. “I agree. Might as well ask the fae folk to clean the air, too. It’s impossible when gobs of pollution are dumped into the water daily. Water folk demand a permanent solution, not a waiting list for magical beings to get to us.”

“The idea is worth examining.” Hestia inspected her claws. “Changing human habits isn’t enough. A systematic reset along with sweeping changes, however, will provide fast and lasting results.”

“If we did, we could kill two birds with one stone.” I froze, realizing the coming backlash too late to stop my comment.

“Did you honestly just say that?” Hestia ruffled her feathers.

“I’m so sorry.” My world melted around me.

I winced at the griffin's sharp laugh with a squawk. “I’m kidding with you! It’s not like you said to kill two phoenixes with one stone.”

“Right,” I said.

“I agree with Hestia,” Nithe rumbled, keeping a side-eye on me. “For tomorrow’s meeting, bring ideas to remedy current practices into better ones. Now, let’s move on to the next topic.”

The hour-long session passed the same way. With my minor victory, I kept quiet and made it through without another misstep. Biting my tongue at derogatory human remarks strained my resolve. They were earned criticisms, but most reflected the point of view of specific groups. My coworkers, and many others, had difficulty realizing that. It created an unwinnable guessing game to determine the right words and actions for mythical being allies, like myself.

My dedication grew with every rude comment. When Nithe adjourned the meeting, I had my plan worked out. Papers slapped together with my rush to fold my binder and dart around the table to catch Hestia. I knew the others wouldn't reach out to me. Doing this, I’d live up to the brazen human image. It was worth the struggle if my co-workers discovered I was more than a token human on the board.

“Hestia, hold on a moment,” I said, stalling her from taking flight.

“What do you want?”

“To talk. Can we meet up at lunch?”

“Just because I joked with you doesn’t mean I wish to be friends.” She clicked her beak, adding sarcasm to the last word.

I waved a hand. “No, I understand that. We can meet in your office if you prefer a more formal setting. I wanted to pass my ideas by you.”

“You wish for my opinion on your suggestions?” She scratched a paw to her chin. “I’m liable to hate all of them.”

“Perfect. Then I can think of something better.”

She guffawed her odd laugh again. “Okay, human. I’ll give you thirty minutes. Come to my office in an hour with your best plans.”

“That sounds reasonable.”

​

I turned to the door out, giving my coworkers respectful nods none of them meaningfully returned. That didn’t bother me. I had a key to gaining their respect with Hestia. Soon, more would change than the environment.