In the Time Before

Today I have to write an 8 page talk about Virginia Woolf that I forgot I have to give on Wednesday. I’m going away this whole weekend to a conference, so suddenly I realized I gotta write this talk TODAY. Also do laundry, pack, buy tampons, the usual pre-travel stuff. I have my whole talk in my head but feel I probably shouldn’t wing it (joke).

The semester is flying by, as always. We’re almost to the book about DNA I have to teach this year! That means we’re almost finished. A class that began in Athens in 500 B.C. is now almost to the discovery of DNA. After that it’s just free jazz, and then it’s over! I can’t believe it.

The other day at the bus stop in pre-dawn darkness and blustery rain, I was standing under the scanty shelter alone when another bus rider showed up and crowded into the shelter with me. I inched away from him in the unconscious all-consuming effort one makes to avoid any potential threats when alone in darkness with a man. He told me where he was standing was drier than where I was standing. I responded noncommittally. Then he said “don’t worry, I won’t bite you.”

!!

He later turned out to be just a nice normal guy, supposedly, but honestly, men of the world, please do not say stuff like this to women alone at dark bus stops! I am not usually all that hyper-sensitive to safety issues–although, as a woman, you are so constantly making gender-based choices concerning personal safety that I think you don’t even notice how on-guard you are at all times–there are women who are MUCH more uptight about their safety than I am (e.g. lady law students on the bus the other day worrying about whether taking a taxi alone at night is “safe enough,” Jesus, such a fear has never crossed my mind, thank god), but still. “don’t worry, I won’t bite you”???? Sir, you just made adrenaline shoot through my entire body. I turned off my podcast so I’d be more alert but I left the headphones on so he’d think I was still off my guard, and then I just stood there eyeing him peripherally until finally some other people showed up. What on earth.

Did you read that New Yorker article about Elizabeth Smart? Wow. As much as I am opposed to all religions, I have to say, her family must be awesome. That lady rules. She really got through it with no fuss–did you know she never went to a day of therapy, when she got back? Her parents offered it to her, and she didn’t feel like she needed it. She was fourteen. She just rode horses, hung out with her grandpa, and had talks with her mom about how bad stuff that happens to you doesn’t define who you are. And now she’s this crusader for the self-esteem of girls, and she lives with her husband, who she likes, in Paris. Good job, Elizabeth Smart, we are all rooting for you!!! Anyway she told this story about how, after she got back from her dark 9 month ordeal, she took a self-defense class that made her feel a lot safer in the world. I took self-defense and it was the same–Self defense class is so much less about learning how to punch someone than it is about just accepting that you are ALLOWED to punch someone–you are allowed to stand up for yourself and to keep yourself safe. Apparently something like 70% of attempted child abductions are thwarted just by the child kicking and screaming! Heavy. This is what my self-defense teacher called “making a scene,” and it was her number one first-choice for getting yourself out of a gnarly situation. Make a scene! We are all so afraid of making a scene. Anyway so then Smart was at BYU walking around with a guy she was dating, and a dude in a clown mask started menacing them and scaring her badly, and she said “if you take one more step closer to me I’m going to kick you in the balls,” and he did, and she did (“I just don’t take chances anymore”), and then he didn’t bother her again. She said it was only this self-defense class that made her feel like this was a thing she had the power to do. So dark!!! And I remember, even after my self-defense class, when I felt so empowered, I still let that guy stick his hand in my crotch on the bus, and even when I finally noticed, I didn’t say anything for like a shockingly long amount of time, because I was just frozen in terror and embarrassment, and there were so many people on the bus and it just seemed so humiliating. And then finally I just said “fuck off” calmly to him and he got off the bus. And I was just awash in crippling shame, I felt like I would throw up. I couldn’t meet the eyes of anyone else on the bus. I was so ashamed for letting it happen and not responding more forcefully, and I was also ashamed because, what kind of jackass doesn’t notice someone creeping on them like that? What kind of stupid idiot just sits dreamily on the bus while some guy sticks his hand into her most private of places?? And then doesn’t even react to it, just basically says “i’m so sorry but can you please stop sir” to him?? So even after all those self defense classes, and after imagining myself in similar scenarios a million times, I still didn’t feel authorized to punch that guy in the throat, or to stand up and start screaming at him, or anything. I still think about it. He’s probably still out there doing this to people.

And that story is SO fucking tame. I’m SO LUCKY (knock on wood) that that is among my worst stories. Jesus Christ, the things that happen to women out there in this world. Holy shit. A friend of mine just discovered that for an unknowable amount of time she and her roommates have had a peeping tom crouched behind their house peering into their bedroom windows at night. You call the cops, but what can they do? The guy runs off, back out into the world. Imagine being a guy like that, walking around so alive to opportunities other people don’t ever think about. A building with a nicely-hidden alley behind it. A girl who seems to live alone on a first floor. An especially crowded subway train. A girl on the bus day dreaming with a big bag on her lap. A drunk girl. I just read the Mercury article about the homeless encampment on Burnside and one of the homeless dudes who works security there says all night long on weekends he rescues drunk girls from dudes trying to grope them or get them into cars. And in between those encounters he sits at the security table fielding requests from drunk dudes looking for prostitutes. Imagine the mind you’d have to have to walk past a homeless village of exhausted people sleeping in tarps right on Burnside with the cars roaring by and be like “hey buddy, you got any desperate ladies in there? Wink wink?”

Well, sorry about that! I don’t have time to end things on an up-beat. I guess just think of Elizabeth Smart kicking that clown creep in the balls, that’s peppy

bye

p.s. I’m naming my talk “Woolf Whistlin'”