At the mental health center, a gentleman I’ve never seen before starts talking to me.
“Excuse me, are you a doctor? Can I speak with you in private?”
How could I say no? We go to an empty outpatient clinic.
“Dottoré, I need you to do me a favor. Since I go in and out of the Poggioreale prison, I need a certificate. You must put me in writing that I am trans and I am not a ricchione.”
I take a good look at him. Middle-aged, pants and shirt, beard and glasses — overall, a handsome man.
“Excuse me, but on what basis should I put such a thing in writing?”
As soon as I finish the sentence, I want to slap myself. Darn me for never keeping my mouth shut and minding my own business! I can already picture the guy lowering his pants to let me ascertain with my eyes the object of the certification.
But instead, he goes: “Would you like to meet Monique?”
He takes off his shirt, and out comes a fuchsia, sequined tank top. Then, as he walks around the room shaking his arms, he says: “I’m Monique, I’m beautiful — I'm hot and I’m chic.”
The shock must have been clear on my face.
“Dottoré, you see what I mean? I look like a man, but in truth, I’m really good as a woman… and my clients like me like this!”
“Yes, I see. You are indeed great. But why do you need a certificate for Poggioreale?”
“Dottoré, when I go to jail, I want to be with the other trans people there, because I can tell them who I really am, and they’ll leave me alone. But the guards always put me with the other ricchiun, and then when I try to explain, they don't get it! All they see is a handsome man. And they don’t give a crap that I’m actually Monique — all they want to do is f*ck Mario!”
Learn more about Worldcrunch's exclusive Dottoré! series here.