Taking Action

Awhile ago I was sitting in this little dive bar listening to not awful karaoke with an old friend. While my friend went to have a smoke, this man I didn't know who must have been at least 50, put his jacket down on my friend's stool. I told him politely that the stool was taken. He said he'd move it when my friend returned. I stared at him in disbelief. As my disbelief turned to fury, the man held my stare as if challenging me to say more. I finally broke gaze and turned to my husband and said, "Can you believe this dick?" The man then proceeded to approach me and retorted, "Hey! I'm not a dick. Your friend isn't here. Don't be a bitch." I of course responded, "Oh! Now you're going to listen to a woman? Since I seem to have your attention, move your fucking coat before I put it on the floor." He was a bit taken aback. He didn't back down until his buddy said, "Hey man. Just take your coat. Let's go."

OK, fine, Goat. That's not what happened at all. 

What did happen was this: All of it is true up to the point where I turned and spoke to my husband. Then I nonchalantly flipped the guy off, but he had the good sense to move along. When my friend came back, the man politely moved his jacket and and made a show of his magnanimous gesture of goodwill to which I smiled with more sneer than genuine kindness and gave him a finger waggle wave and brush. He moved along and did soon after leave with his buddy. 

So what if I flipped him off again. He left.

Afterward though, I was still filled with anger. I could't let it go. I kept seeing his ugly, smug, smarmy face staring me down like some schoolyard bully. It still gets my ire up even now to think about it and it's been almost a month. My voice was startled into silent submission. The fact of the matter though is that I didn't put up more of a resistance. I was scared. Even though we were in a crowded bar and my husband was nearby, I felt like this man could be a threat and I might not be safe continuing the confrontation. 

Yeah. I was a chicken. Not even a cool chicken like this one that rides a turtle. Just a wimpy chicken who lacked the fortitude to stand up for herself without fear of reprisal.

Like so many other women, I felt suddenly unsafe. Faced with a bonafide asshole who probably would say he wasn't a sexist, I was speechless and couldn't give him my best Julia Sugarbaker. He was, after all, drunk, and drinking does things to people like make them more prone to violence. I have been subjected to this kind of jerk-ass sexism more than once: a doctor who made a comment about my weight being inappropriate and likely a factor of my lupus. Mind you, my weight was right in the average range for my height and about 20 pounds lighter than when I had first started seeing him. The doctor who did my vertebrae fusion made comments about my yoga practice and said that the only people he knew in California who did yoga were men who went to watch young women's asses (most likely downward dog). He also made reference to my nail polish that matched my toenail polish, my thin, ballerina neck, and my belly dance as if it was stripping because his wife would never be ok with going to see us dance at the restaurant (as if what we do is somehow dirty). None of which had any bearing on my surgery mind you. Of course, there was also the asshat who was drunk at the restaurant and said horrid things to me while pulling my skirt back and looking at my ass.

I'm not usually prone to violence as a solution, 

but I good slap across their misogynistic faces would have felt so good.

None of this makes me unique or special in the world. It's just more of the same sexist garbage that women face every day. Our current president was accused by more than one woman and several underage women, yet he still got into office. Another politician, Moore, who's running for Senate is also facing allegations, but a new poll found that nearly 40% of Evangelical voters would still vote for him. Apparently violating the bodily autonomy of underage women or even adult women is ok with people, especially people who identify as conservative Christians--note I did not say all. But some is enough to send a message that speaking up just puts you on the hot-seat. Speaking up just means that you, not your aggressor, will be the one to pay the price.Women don't even want to believe other women who do speak up. It's unconscionable that these XY predators get a pass. Hell, they even get elected to offices meant to represent the values of America and all its citizens. Apparently for some, it's ok to victimize women, teens, and girls. I'm sure they were asking for it. I'm sure they deserved it for smarting off. I'm sure they enjoyed it:s

Precisely.

After that scumbag at the restaurant assaulted me, my dance teacher advised me to just forget it. She also advised me that it was her training with a firearm that made her feel confident and like nobody could accost her and get away with it. He did something similar to her that night. She told him,"It's not that kind of show." That's when he came at me. If you've ever read any of my others posts, you know I'm not a fan of guns. I have no intention of ever owning one.  I feel strongly that if I had one, then it'd become my default setting. I'd reach for it every time. 

I don't ever want that to be me.

Today, I called about self-defense classes. I've long considered them, but I never enrolled or pursued them with any real intent. Today I did. I figure I will find the courage, confidence, and competence to meet the challenge posed by any one of my previous and yet to be dickwads. I am not so naive to think there won't be more in my future. There will. I'll be ready for them, inner Julia Sugarbaker and all.

All right, Moose. Let's do this.