“What’s out there? There aren’t any games there this week, are there?”
He’s so worried about me getting ahead that he doesn’t even consider the Global Games hiatus. “No, I’m going to see Benj.”
“Benj?”
“Yeah, my brother. Benjamin. You know, he was my person of honor in our wedding.”
“Right. I forgot.”
I’ll bet he forgot. He forgot a lot when we were married, like he wasn’t supposed to be sleeping with anyone else. Whatever. It’s in the past, and I really don’t care about him enough to let it bother me. I click a few more options. “Damn, flights are expensive. It’s hard to swallow this price knowing I’m not getting reimbursed from the league for it.”
“Yeah, but the $900 from the game this weekend should help, right?”
I hadn’t considered that. I quickly open my banking app to make sure the money has been deposited before I purchase my airline tickets.
Except the new deposit is for $678.96, after taxes.
This doesn’t make sense. “How much did you say it is for a game? I usually get $650 for a WUSSL game.” A men’s game should be much higher.
“Not for the assistant. For the ref.” Mike was always good at mansplaining. I know what I get paid, down to the penny.
“I’m not talking about the assistant. What do you get paid as a Level 3 ref per game?”
“We get $900 for reffing, $420 as the assistant, and $300 for the backup assistant.”
I open up my USSLRA employee portal so I can look at my paystubs a little closer because his numbers don’t make sense. I got paid $738 for the Buzzards–Terrors game. That’s not an error. I say as much to Mike.
He’s uncharacteristically quiet.
The one time I want him to tell me what’s going on, he doesn’t say a blessed thing.
“What? Why aren’t you talking? What’s going on? Mike, are you still there?” Maybe we disconnected. It would be the only logical explanation.
He lets out a deep sigh. “Andi, you’re not going to like it.”
“What?” I’m on my feet now, pacing around my small apartment.
“What are your rates for ladies’ games?”
“My rates are $650, $305 for assistant, and $217 for backup.”
Another sigh. I swear he’s stalling to piss me off. Even though I wish I could reach through the phone and pull the answer out of him physically. Instead, I wait, not moving and not making any noise.
I’m fairly confident my ex would describe me as infinitely patient. He has no idea I’m practically crawling out of my skin right now.
“I make $793, $372, and $265 for ladies’ games. Don’t make this weird. You don’t want to do anything that could jeopardize your career.”
My mind is working overtime trying to process what he’s saying. We were in the same orientation group with the United States Soccer League Referee Association, so we have the same level of experience. We’re both considered Level 3s, and we have about the same number of games under our belts, give or take a few. I think I may have more than Mike at this time. I don’t tend to request time off for things like fishing trips with my buddies. The numbers he’s reporting to me make no sense.
Unless ...
There’s only one reason for this.
Also, I hate that he refers to them as “ladies’ games” instead of “women’s.” I can’t tell if he’s being passive-aggressive or ignorant. It doesn’t really matter about the intent. The effect is the same.
I make Mike repeat his numbers so I can write them down and then make up some bullshit excuse so I can end the phone call. And then I crunch the numbers.
No matter how many times I look at it, the same answer is apparent. Mike gets paid more than I do because I’m female and he’s male. Eighteen percent more. Not to mention the pay is higher for men’s games than women’s.
