Mar 22, 2008


So, I'm really just aiming to finish up a few last-minute tweaks on Katie Schwartz's essay collection today. Just like last night. No big whoop. However, this morning, I watched a guy about to get whomped-up upon by a line of people and nearly had to fight a guy myself.

Let's back up.

I was running a couple of errands and was on line when I overheard a guy tell his girlfriend what a great boyfriend he was for coming with her to Planned Parenthood for a follow-up pap test, as she'd gotten abnormal results. (I'm sure she appreciated him announcing this.) Apparently, they'd just been there. He continued that Planned Parenthood was "the worst" place to pick up women because, in his thinking, women in Planned Parenthood have negative feeling about men. Why, his girlfriend asked? Well, because, apparently the only purpose PP serves according to him is to service women who get "knocked up" and "the diseases" and have "no men with 'em". And, he referred to every women there are as a ho. Nevermid that his girlfriend was there being responsible about her health. Nevermind that. The rest of the women were surely skanks. Surely. Oy, what a charmer.

It was so rotten, these words he was spewing, that it was almost laughable. I mean, it was laughable, because it was so unreal. I texted back and forth with Momma's Boy to laugh it off. "Class" he wrote. Truly.

Like many underinsured women, I get a significant portion of healthcare from Planned Parenthood. Regular ol' routine, annual, pro-active screenings, in addition to the majority of that scary not-breast cancer situation over the summer. I go there for all of that stuff. And, I am glad to there and support the organization, anyway. Even if I was better insured, I'd go there. When I have been better-insured, I go there. I like going there.

Anyway, I found this one-sided conversation irritating because generalizations bother me and mean generalizations bother me more. I thought let him say one more thing and I've have no choice but to just turn around and tell him that some women go for birth control and health screenings and a whole slew of other things and his generalizations were unfair and besides getting medical attention for where pregnancy and sexually-transmitted infections are concerned is responsible and not prostitute criteria.

He'd maybe be defensive anyway, but something had to be said. Everyone overhearing this guy rant and pat himself on the back was starting to shift uncomfortably. Was a person who found it acceptable to rant this way in public going to be all love & flowers if I said something? Maybe not. But, the only reason not to say something was if I was more concerned about his comfort than my own. So, okay, keep talking, guy, keeeep talking.

His girlfriend realized all of the pairs of eyes (nine female, three male) cut in his direction and changed the subject.

I was next in line then left, walking down the block to my car. A man was racing towards me. Not like jogging, but like a guy maybe tweaking on something and running like in a panic, while looking around frantically. He got to me and said some nonsense about speed walking and wishing I could see the world through his eyes, baby.

"Don't call me baby." I said.

Usually that sort of comment gets a "pssh" at best. But, he was set off and started shouting things at me only a couple of feet away and started jumping at me as if trying to make me flinch. I kept walking, stepped around him and went about my way. But, he wanted to keep going, so more shouting cunt cunt cunt cunt cunt cunt fuck you cunt cunt cunt cunt. I got to my car, he hopped on the hood, I got out of the car and said, "You're going to get down and leave me alone." which was met with some sort of "No bitch's gonna tell me" rant. This is scary, naturally, I don't know this guy, I don't know if he is armed and he's a lot bigger than I am. But, whatcha gonna do? I want this jackass off my fucking car.

Anyway, I held my ground, he split, finally. I called Momma's Boy to share the bizarre turn of events since the last text I sent. He answered, I said hello, I think, before I realized Tweaky McGee was running back to my car and landed with his hand resting on my car hood. More shouting, more pushing on the car hood.

All this over "Don't call me baby"?!? Surely I'm being punk'd right? I was in Leah's neighborhood. Maybe this was all a big gag. Okay no. Okay, I'm done. I threw my door open and shouted: I am not going to tell you again! and hung up the phone. The dude rubbed his chest and flicked his tongue at me, gross, and offered me a shag (my wording, not his). More back and forth, finally he left.

I got in the car and my heart was beating like a drum! I called Momma's Boy back. Obviously, he had questions, having only heard I am not going to tell you again! and then a dead line.

Man. What a weird hour. Not even that! What a weird fifteen minutes! Gahhhd.

All that before noon!

I'm expecting some Craigslisters to come pick some crap up. They better be cool.

1 comment:

leah said...

Ah, you caught our regularly scheduled Neighborhood Crazy Fucker Hour! Every Saturday, but the hour is a secret until the Crazy Fucker starts his thing.