A couple of days ago, I was walking beside the Max tracks downtown, when I noticed a man leaning on the ticket validator. He must have been seven feet tall, with steel-toed boots and a thread-bare tank top tucked into tight jeans. His forearms pressed heavy across the metal, fists clenched, veins visible and throbbing. I imagined the hot surface of the metal. Was he going to be sick?
Thanks, man, he screamed to someone on the train.
A teenage boy smiled and nodded back, before turning around to find a seat. The train pulled away. I kept walking, wondering what favor the teenage boy had done - explaining the train route, perhaps, or giving the man spare change, sharing a cigarette.
I was on my way to a bookstore cafe, looking forward to my seat at the window bar and a warm mug of chamomile tea, when the ticket machine man crept up behind. His chest almost pressed into my shoulderblades, so close I could feel his body heat, smell his aftershave mixed with sweat. And, of course, the crosswalk signal flashed Don't Walk.
Hey girl, he said.
At first, I was relieved. I thought he was talking to someone else - the woman across the street, maybe, or a friend on his cell phone. Hey was just too familiar and girl, too presumptuous. He must have been distracted and bumped into me by accident. So I ignored him and waited for the light to change.
Then I felt him push against me again - this time touching my bare skin. I was wearing a handmade dress with a bodice that laces up in the back, so my spine and shoulder blades were exposed. I moved closer to the curb, as far as I could go without stepping into the busy street.
Girl. When a certain kind of man hurls that word, my memory flashes to Hollywood murder scenes, bad workshop fiction, and sale-table novels. Hey little girl, the killer always says, knife blade pressed to tender neck. Girl clearly meant to diminish the victim's status and strength. To dehumanize. As if a girl were the same thing as a doll or toy.
The signal changed.
Portland sucks, the man said. You people are afraid of your own shadows. It was obvious he was talking about me, how I had not answered his hey girl or swooned to his uninvited touches.
Did this guy not realize how many disgusting catcalls, come-ons, and passes women endure every day? How men threaten and insult in the most humiliating ways? If he did, he might not expect a response.
Before I could think, I yelled out, I thought you were talking on a cell phone.
Later, I thought about Nico Larco, and his concept of The Stranger, how we need uncomfortable encounters to keep the city vital and alive. But was this what Nico Larco meant? Misogyny as the lifeblood of urban experience? No.
So why did I yell back about the cell phone? Was I complicit, simply by choosing the simpler response? Why was I afraid to be the stranger?
Comments (6)
A few years agao I was on holiday and was in the pool. There was myself and my partner. A mother and her son were already there. The son was in the pool. I slowly climbed in and just mentioned to the son "it's a bit cold when you first get in". You know "one of those I recognise that you are in my part of the world" sayings. The son said "yeah". Later I heard the mother say sternly: "I told you never to talk to starngers".
I was quite taken back by this and it has always stayed with me. I don't know whether she was right or over reacting. I think 90% of the time we react to protect us from the 5% of bad that may happen.
But then I am not female, yet have two daughters. And I would also expect them to be wary of such incidents as you described.
Anyway, thanks for the space to ramble.
Posted by joe | April 30, 2004 1:56 PM
Posted on April 30, 2004 13:56
I think our answers are often attempts to avoid further complicating situations. Without thinking, we say things that will sidetrack what is really happening. It's a defense mechanism. An odd form of diplomacy.
The man, obviously, was way out of line. Imagine if you will what his response would be if someone suddenly crowded up on him and started bumping him around?
Posted by Keith | April 30, 2004 4:29 PM
Posted on April 30, 2004 16:29
I think it's naive and idealistic to believe that being open to the advances of strangers will somehow enrich or change the world for the better. You wouldn't believe how different people can be on the inside, what life/consciousness is like for them. My best friend's daughter was raped by a stranger a few months ago. There are real dangers. If you live where threatening situations are possible, pay attention. Do the smart thing to avoid harm.
Posted by Denny | May 3, 2004 6:29 AM
Posted on May 3, 2004 06:29
I am so sorry to hear about your daughter's friend. I wish her love, healing, and happiness.
Posted by karrie | May 3, 2004 6:58 AM
Posted on May 3, 2004 06:58
Thanks to everyone, for all your comments. I have been thinking about some interesting issues you all raise ...
Is Nico Larco and his concept of The Stranger naive? Idealistic?
He was not really talking about the advances of strangers,. He was talking about The Stranger as something that exists in daily life. The Stranger is anyone you find different or strange or challenging to your assumptions or ideas of the world. For example, wealthy CEO might find a construction worker to be the stranger (and the converse as well.) Larco was talking about the diversity that exists in the city, how we can be thrown out of our comfort zones. He was not talking about being harassed, or accepting the advances of someone you do not like. So in that sense, there is nothing naive about it. It is simply another way of talking about diversity. So maybe he is idealistic, but not necessarily naive.
But don't worry - I would never even consider accepting such advances. I was just wondering if the experience itself - of being offended, moving away, yelling out - was somehow essential to urban life. Which I think is an interesting and uncomfortable question, when taken seriously.
Posted by karrie | May 3, 2004 7:00 AM
Posted on May 3, 2004 07:00
I've been mulling this over, over the weekend. It's not I think an easy question. On the one hand, I can't see how your response makes you "complicit" with anything. It was, I expect, more or less the response this guy was looking for, and it's hard for me to imagine any response that he wouldn't have interpreted that way.
I do think it's important not to write people off, in your mind -- to regard all people as valuable, and to wish them all well. But that doesn't mean buying their version of reality, or playing the game according to their rules. Sometimes people have their relationships with others so definitively scripted that there's not really any way to change the story -- you either play it their way or you don't play at all. When that's the case it doesn't really matter what you do, insofar as it affects them; the only sensible thing to do at that point is extricate yourself with all due and convenient dispatch.
As a Buddhist, my response in this sort of situation is to hold the aspiration that at some point (in this life or a future one) I may make meaningful contact with this person and be of some real service to him. And to break off contact as soon as possible. It's not doing either of us any good, at the moment.
Posted by dale | May 3, 2004 10:16 AM
Posted on May 3, 2004 10:16