This isn't a political rant, I promise.
I have a hate/fear relationship with Home Depot. I hate it because it's filled with things I know nothing about, and there are few things that irk me more than ignorance. I'm afraid of it because its sheer magnitude and volume trigger my anxiety and leave me overwhelmed and overstimulated. It's all too much. But being a suburban wife and mom, I inevitably find myself wandering this vast expanse of hardware and things-I-didn't-know-were-a-thing on occasion. (People buy 3/4" copper pipe? WHY?!) I took a trip there today to buy paint and area rugs, but my dear husband tagged along. He showed me right to the carpet department, and suggested I squeeze between the hanging displays of soft pile. Instant relief. I nestled in, Temple Grandin-style, and felt at ease between the squishy fibers. I can do this, I thought. This is okay.
Later on, I had to run to work to make some copies for tomorrow's school day. Husband called and asked if I would return to the Depot for a forgotten item. No problem, I thought. I could visit my rugs. I parked, went to the necessary department, conducted my business, and left. As I was walking to my swagger wagon, I noticed a car parked next to mine on the driver's side. There were people in it. I got a little uneasy.
As I got closer, it became clear that the occupants of the car were consuming some sort of presumably-illicit substance. They didn't look like altar boys, I can say that much. I briefly considered turning around and grabbing a fresh-faced Home Depot soldier to accompany me out, but I immediately dismissed the idea. My bags were heavy and my chicken-wing arms were protesting, and besides, I'm not a baby. So I walked to my door and fumbled with my keys. The guys in the car got quiet, and my nerves ramped up. I couldn't figure out which damn key unlocked my damn door because they kept looking at me.
One guy whistled. I looked around and saw no one - NO ONE - in the vicinity who could help. (How could this be, when the population of a small town was milling about inside?!) I finally grabbed my key fob when the other one leaned out the window and said, "Hey there, fine piece of ass. We've been checking you out. Why don't you hop in and we'll take you for a ride?"
He was a foot away from me. In that instant I thought, "There are two of them and one of me. There's no one around. I couldn't overpower the Snuggle teddy bear, much less two grown men. I'd fit through their window if they pulled hard enough. Should I scream? Why did I wear my yoga clothes to the store?" In that instant I thought about the time in senior year when I went to the bathroom during math and was pushed against the wall by a boy who thought it okay to shove his hand all the way up my skirt. In that instant I thought about the time I was held to a bed, knife against my neck, by a boy I thought loved me who told me no one would believe me so I should keep my mouth shut and do what he said. In that instant I thought about the time a big boy I trusted told me the boogey man would get me if I didn't give him the pleasure he demanded.
Nothing happened. I got in my car, peeled out of the parking lot, and stumbled back into my home completely unscathed. Well, maybe not completely. Because here's the thing. Sometimes lewd words made by men to women truly are harmless. (Would these junkies have hurt me if they'd had the chance? Maybe so, maybe not.) But even if those words harbor no ill-intent, they still have tremendous power to intimidate, terrify, and traumatize. Women get hurt by men at alarming rates. Think I'm alone in my experiences? According to the Rape and Incest National Network, an American is sexually assaulted every 109 seconds. SECONDS. Additionally, one out of every six women has been the victim of a completed or attempted rape in her lifetime. I'm certainly not alone, though I wish I were.
This notion that "boys will be boys," or that guys just don't know any better, is utter and complete bullshit. When I came home today and told Husband what happened, he was mortified. His first question was, "Did you get their license plate number?" To which I replied, "I was fucking terrified, so no, I didn't." "Oh," he said, "God. Maybe you should carry a gun." He's a good man who has never so much as raised an eyebrow to me much less his voice or his hand. He doesn't take kindly to people who pick on women.
But I don't want to carry a gun, and I don't want to blame myself for wearing yoga clothes to Home Depot. I don't want to blame 17-year old me for going to the bathroom during class and exposing myself to dirtbags trolling the halls for victims. I don't want to blame 13-year old me for trusting my dearest, best friend who turned out to be a wolf in sheep's clothing. I don't want to blame the 5-year old me for... being a little girl, the most vulnerable human on the planet.
We women deserve to walk the earth feeling safe, secure, and confident. We do NOT deserve to believe our bodies exist only for the entertainment and exploitation of men. It's bullshit and I won't stand for it. I have a daughter and I have sons and I have an inner child who's been begging me to speak up for decades. NO MORE. WE CANNOT AND SHOULD NOT TAKE THIS ANY LONGER. If you have a story, please share it. If you are a women, please speak out. If you are a good man - and most of you are! - please don't dismiss the toxic waste that comes out of other men's mouths. Together we can change. Together we can fix this. NO MORE.
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