(no subject)
I've reached a real point of apathy regarding people being dicks.
I don't mean that I no longer care that they're being dicks, but that i'm no longer too concerned about what might happen if i talk back. And I'm talking about a real specific kind of dickishness here- the sort of dickish treatment that men lay on women when they think they won't be called out on it. The guy who yells out of his car as he's driving by, the insult-flattery when you walk by on the street, the exaggerated parody-imitations when they see you running or working out in public.
I fucking hate this shit. "Hey, I think I'll go out of my way to ruin someone's mood, maybe even their day, just for my own momentary amusement. That'll make the world a better place."
And they do it because they can. Because they've learn to expect no other response than those weak smiles we give when we just want to exit a situation as quickly and painlessly as possible. Fake smile. Eyes down. Walk fast.
But lately... well, the weak smile used to be reflexive, but it doesn't seem to be anymore. Instead I find myself stopping and chiding these guys. Before I even realize what i'm doing i'm talking to these guys like they're the kids at the childcare program I staff and they're misbehaving.
And, um... I don't think these guys are used to being talked down to.
So today's adventure...
Now, I ride a fixed gear bike (with an abnormally high gear ratio, to boot), which I freely admit is not the most practical vehicle in this little mountain town. But I bought the thing when I lived in a land of utter flatness- it made perfect sense. And maybe when I finally manage to claw my way above the federal poverty line I'll consider a vehicle more suited to my present environment, but for the time being it beats walking.
So there I am, riding down Greenwood ave from the Fred Meyer flats up towards The Ridge. I take this hill nearly every day; it's not much of a struggle, but with my set-up it's slow going. (but hey- slow and steady right? shall we talk about winners and losers?)
About halfway up the hill a Cyclist passes me. Cyclist, which a capital C. You know the sort- bike worth more than your house and head to toe spandex in lurid colors and sponsored logos. And as he passes me he shouts out "You can do it, you can do it! Keep going, you can do it!"
Really? Why, Sir Spandex? Why is it so goddamn fun to try to embarass a total stranger with your sneering jeers? Inwardly I sighed. And fumed.
But as fate would have it, (Fate, clearly, possessing a sense of humor far closer to mine than to Spandex's) there was a red light at the top of the hill.
And not a roll-through style red light; a legit, busy cross street/roll-through-to-your-death style red light. That fucker had to stop. And so did I. Right next to him.
"A better thing to say would have been 'Passing on the left.'"
He looks over at me, startled. He looks up at the light. Still red.
"Oh, um... I meant it to be encouraging."
"It wasn't." --> I say this very firmly.
I'm staring at him sternly and doing the not-blinking thinking.
There's a long pause and he keeps glancing up at the light. This is a long red.
A looooonnggg red.
Finally he mumbles without looking at me, "I'm sorry. Next time I'll say 'passing on the left.'"
"Good."
The light is still red.
He is so uncomfortable.
Still red.
He's fidgeting.
Still red.
He's now staring intently at that traffic light.
And finally, fate proves merciful; the light changes. And he's off!
Now, I don't know how he felt the rest of the evening, but I definitely didn't suffer the usual grudging resentment and impotent rage that accompany public harassment. So I'll call it a win.
There've been times in the past when I've responded to harassment with an angry "Fuck off!" or "Go to Hell!" It never really ends well. Things get riled up and everyone winds up angrier. This was better.
he was so, so uncomfortable. *giggle*
I don't mean that I no longer care that they're being dicks, but that i'm no longer too concerned about what might happen if i talk back. And I'm talking about a real specific kind of dickishness here- the sort of dickish treatment that men lay on women when they think they won't be called out on it. The guy who yells out of his car as he's driving by, the insult-flattery when you walk by on the street, the exaggerated parody-imitations when they see you running or working out in public.
I fucking hate this shit. "Hey, I think I'll go out of my way to ruin someone's mood, maybe even their day, just for my own momentary amusement. That'll make the world a better place."
And they do it because they can. Because they've learn to expect no other response than those weak smiles we give when we just want to exit a situation as quickly and painlessly as possible. Fake smile. Eyes down. Walk fast.
But lately... well, the weak smile used to be reflexive, but it doesn't seem to be anymore. Instead I find myself stopping and chiding these guys. Before I even realize what i'm doing i'm talking to these guys like they're the kids at the childcare program I staff and they're misbehaving.
And, um... I don't think these guys are used to being talked down to.
So today's adventure...
Now, I ride a fixed gear bike (with an abnormally high gear ratio, to boot), which I freely admit is not the most practical vehicle in this little mountain town. But I bought the thing when I lived in a land of utter flatness- it made perfect sense. And maybe when I finally manage to claw my way above the federal poverty line I'll consider a vehicle more suited to my present environment, but for the time being it beats walking.
So there I am, riding down Greenwood ave from the Fred Meyer flats up towards The Ridge. I take this hill nearly every day; it's not much of a struggle, but with my set-up it's slow going. (but hey- slow and steady right? shall we talk about winners and losers?)
About halfway up the hill a Cyclist passes me. Cyclist, which a capital C. You know the sort- bike worth more than your house and head to toe spandex in lurid colors and sponsored logos. And as he passes me he shouts out "You can do it, you can do it! Keep going, you can do it!"
Really? Why, Sir Spandex? Why is it so goddamn fun to try to embarass a total stranger with your sneering jeers? Inwardly I sighed. And fumed.
But as fate would have it, (Fate, clearly, possessing a sense of humor far closer to mine than to Spandex's) there was a red light at the top of the hill.
And not a roll-through style red light; a legit, busy cross street/roll-through-to-your-death style red light. That fucker had to stop. And so did I. Right next to him.
"A better thing to say would have been 'Passing on the left.'"
He looks over at me, startled. He looks up at the light. Still red.
"Oh, um... I meant it to be encouraging."
"It wasn't." --> I say this very firmly.
I'm staring at him sternly and doing the not-blinking thinking.
There's a long pause and he keeps glancing up at the light. This is a long red.
A looooonnggg red.
Finally he mumbles without looking at me, "I'm sorry. Next time I'll say 'passing on the left.'"
"Good."
The light is still red.
He is so uncomfortable.
Still red.
He's fidgeting.
Still red.
He's now staring intently at that traffic light.
And finally, fate proves merciful; the light changes. And he's off!
Now, I don't know how he felt the rest of the evening, but I definitely didn't suffer the usual grudging resentment and impotent rage that accompany public harassment. So I'll call it a win.
There've been times in the past when I've responded to harassment with an angry "Fuck off!" or "Go to Hell!" It never really ends well. Things get riled up and everyone winds up angrier. This was better.
he was so, so uncomfortable. *giggle*