Pgh Lesbian Correspondents

Over the weekend, I attended an event staffed by dozens of volunteers, mostly women. As things wrapped up, one woman was looking for another specific person. She was standing with her legs firmly planted to support her frame as she sorted through something or another on the table in front of her, a pair of sturdy socks stretched not quite far enough to reach her pant legs. Her hair was tied back more out of practicality than neatness. After calling out across the hall for her target, she said:

“Is she in the shitter?”

I was perched in an adjacent room with my colleague, surrounded by our boxes and bags, waiting to be set loose on the donated items we coveted for our pet food pantry. Our eagerness was a mix of avarice and anxiety due to reliance on a third party for a ride home.

When she asked about the shitter, I almost fell out of my chair in silent laughter. She also laughed at her own joke. And she didn’t miss a beat as she briskly finished her tasks.

These women.

There were of varying countenance, but similar commitment working studiously to clean the kitchen, wipe the tables, count and secure the money, and even giving the shitters a lick and a promise. They were exhausted

Women approached the pet food stacked against the wall, tripping over each other to be polite and not seem greedy. Everyone was so busy telling the others to go first, putting the needs of their own organizations behind others, that we were getting nowhere fast.

Then another woman and I walked into the little nook – she started taking dog food, I started taking cat food.

I walked out and said “We are here to take whatever is left so I’ll get out of your way.”

That’s when the event organizer began throwing food out of the room to get us the fuck out of there. My colleague and our ride – new friend Helen – began lugging cat food to Helen’s car. Others were piling up donations – dog food here, treats over there, some rabbit stuff, etc.

There was a teenage girl gathering food for some friends who helped dogs. Another dragging over carts and yet another relaying the size/species of the items cast from the room with a determination that only a woman who has been working nonstop for 409 hours to pull off an event can muster.

I don’t recall if men were still around. I remember one calling the bingo numbers and one serving as a runner – he was born in 1972 he announced when repeating the winning number of 72.

Women were in the kitchen, at the door, getting us sorted out at our tables, and in perpetual motion distributing 897 door prizes (we did not win a single time!) It was a classic Pittsburgh fireball fundraiser event and it was glorious.

The niceness was useless, slowed everyone down, kept everyone from a well-deserved nap. The take-charge attitude, blunt language cutting through the room to get stuff done would move mountains if necessary.

My colleague packed every single items into Helen’s car leaving just a few square inches for herself and her stuff. As we toodled off down the road, Helen was smoking a cigarette with one eye on the GPS as she told us stories. We had never met her – she was a friend of a friend who heard we needed help with the pet food so she came. She hauled, she unloaded, and she was off.

My colleague and I did some tidying of the stuff. She told me she was coming back to “actually organize” Gertie. I pretended to be offended, then said “who am I kidding?” We had a little visit as we rested in the kitchen and talked about Broadway musicals. Soon enough she was on her way home in an Uber. Another cat lady had called about unexpected kittens. We found a rescue (women at the event) and she was off to collect them.

It was a lot of women doing the things we do. Someone donated to help purchase more supplies for whistle kits. A woman. Someone offered to make up 300 kits this week. A woman. Someone prepared nearly 40 bags of pet food for distribution. A woman. A woman friend called to check on me.

Today, I started to quarrel with my woman housemate over just stupid stuff and I realized, I wanted the energy I had with all of those mightily women to define my day. So I channeled my inner delight at the phrase “on the shittier” and changed the tenor of the conversation.

I feel so bad and sad about the dissolution of my relationship and marriage. Like I’ve lost pieces of myself. Reminding myself that there is a solid role in this world for women who take up space, speak bluntly, and get shit done – that’s important.

Today, I got shit done – I rested from a pretty anxiety laden day. Rest is important. I rested in the newly cleaned attic (thanks, Tyler) to amuse the cats still traumatized by all the change. I rest in my bed with cats prostrate across me for fear of losing me to the attic again. I did not rest on my walk to the cat colony, armed with a pink walking stick to defend myself against dogs, but purpose drove me forward.

I can no more hide away to lick my wounds than these other women could stop doing their stuff. Even in that space where I am not well know, someone said “Are you Sue Kerr?” twice, two different people. One said it and walked away which is sort of scary, right? But that’s taking up space, too.

I don’t know if I’ll ever lack the fucks to ask if someone is on the shitter. I will, however, always think about that moment and that woman when someone make a shitter adjacent remark. Forever. She’s someone I’d like to help me trap cats.

It would be too easy to point out these are basically a group of cat ladies living up and down to every stereotype.

I should then mention that when we arrived at our table, we found a little bouquet of Progress Pride Pirates banners from 2025. That was a classy touch.

Kudos to everyone for a job well done.