creeping alternatives
I hate cat-calls. I hate being yelled at from moving vehicles, I hate whistling, sexual comments from strangers that are actually harassment and never compliments, I hate it, hate it, hate it. Never have I gone from, "wow, it's a beautiful day and I am in love with the world" to "what did I do? who the hell? get me inside now" in one instant flat.
Today, a co-worker had this terrible experience, came in to my office space to relay, and told me of her retaliation: whenever someone yells suggestive comments from a car window, especially if she's in a car sitting in traffic (but she assures me this could be equally handy for pedesterians), she sticks her finger all the way up her nose. I mean, the girl really digs that finger as far up as it can go. I'm wondering if I could really overcome my fear of the upper nostril just to stick it to the creeps.
I bet and firmly believe this is totally possible.
She also mentioned that she did an experiment once (for a class) where she cat-called out car windows, whistled, sent verbal "you-are-nothing-more-than-an-object-to-me" cues to unsuspecting men. She reports that they ate it up.
I contend that these men would not continue to eat it up if this shit happened to them throughout their entire adult lives and, most wretchedly, throughout a good part of their upper childhood.
When you yell "oooh sexy!" at me from your car while I wait for the walk signal, you are not making me feel better about myself. Instead, you make me feel angry. Rage steams in my ears and boiling blood rushes through every vein. You make it hard for me to refrain from blaming all of the world's problems on men and projecting this hate onto the men in my life (minus my brothers, of course, they can do no harm, and if I hear you criticizing one of them I will come after you without hesitating).
You make it hard for me to live my life.
But we all do, anyway. Maybe I turn down a sidestreet to avoid confrontation. Maybe I wear sunglasses when I don't have to. Maybe I always have my cellphone attached to my ear even when I'm not on a call. Maybe I took 12 hours of a self-defense class. Maybe when I travel solo (one of my favorite things) I plan my plane and trains around daylight, so that I won't arrive in a new city in the dark. Maybe I repeatedly lie to strangers when casually asked what I do for a living, where I went to school. Maybe I'm afraid to drink more than four beers at a bar. Maybe being friendly becomes a bad idea after ten minutes of conversation. Maybe I should smile less. Maybe I should laugh less. Maybe.
Maybe I smile anyway. Maybe I laugh anyway. Maybe I wear make-up anyway. Maybe I travel solo anyway. Maybe I don't always hate half of the population. Maybe I love some of those men.
I just hope the ones I love think of me next time they are tempted to whistle.
Today, a co-worker had this terrible experience, came in to my office space to relay, and told me of her retaliation: whenever someone yells suggestive comments from a car window, especially if she's in a car sitting in traffic (but she assures me this could be equally handy for pedesterians), she sticks her finger all the way up her nose. I mean, the girl really digs that finger as far up as it can go. I'm wondering if I could really overcome my fear of the upper nostril just to stick it to the creeps.
I bet and firmly believe this is totally possible.
She also mentioned that she did an experiment once (for a class) where she cat-called out car windows, whistled, sent verbal "you-are-nothing-more-than-an-object-to-me" cues to unsuspecting men. She reports that they ate it up.
I contend that these men would not continue to eat it up if this shit happened to them throughout their entire adult lives and, most wretchedly, throughout a good part of their upper childhood.
When you yell "oooh sexy!" at me from your car while I wait for the walk signal, you are not making me feel better about myself. Instead, you make me feel angry. Rage steams in my ears and boiling blood rushes through every vein. You make it hard for me to refrain from blaming all of the world's problems on men and projecting this hate onto the men in my life (minus my brothers, of course, they can do no harm, and if I hear you criticizing one of them I will come after you without hesitating).
You make it hard for me to live my life.
But we all do, anyway. Maybe I turn down a sidestreet to avoid confrontation. Maybe I wear sunglasses when I don't have to. Maybe I always have my cellphone attached to my ear even when I'm not on a call. Maybe I took 12 hours of a self-defense class. Maybe when I travel solo (one of my favorite things) I plan my plane and trains around daylight, so that I won't arrive in a new city in the dark. Maybe I repeatedly lie to strangers when casually asked what I do for a living, where I went to school. Maybe I'm afraid to drink more than four beers at a bar. Maybe being friendly becomes a bad idea after ten minutes of conversation. Maybe I should smile less. Maybe I should laugh less. Maybe.
Maybe I smile anyway. Maybe I laugh anyway. Maybe I wear make-up anyway. Maybe I travel solo anyway. Maybe I don't always hate half of the population. Maybe I love some of those men.
I just hope the ones I love think of me next time they are tempted to whistle.
posted by eekbeat | 8:02 PM
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