Randomly awesome
I've had a couple of hilarious, yet eye-opening interactions with men lately. Saturday evening I was waiting at the bus stop just outside of my house, and since it was windy, I was actually waiting inside the little shelter. It was the gloaming time of evening, where the sky was still bright blue but the rest of the world was dark. The shelter itself is in shadow, so it was REALLY dark. And I'm normally pretty wary of that. I live in, if not a bad neighborhood, a neighborhood that makes me very, very aware of my environment at all times.
But this time, for whatever reason, I wasn't paying attention to anything but my phone. I was standing in the shelter, facing the street with my back to the wind and the rest of the world, with my face buried in my phone. And for some reason, I suddenly realized what I was doing, and how odd it was for me. And I looked up. As I was lifting my head, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up and my entire body shivered. In completely stereotypical slow motion, I turned my head to look behind me, suddenly KNOWING with every fiber in my body that somebody was coming.
Except somebody wasn't coming.
Somebody was standing, literally, right behind me. There was a giant, bulky, dark shape inches from my back. I caught a flash of his face, right before I squealed bloody murder and jumped a foot sideways, my hands going up and my body flushing with terror. It took me a half a second to register that the face I'd seen belonged to a jolly, white bearded old black man, and that half second was a really freaking long one. I finally really get a good look at him, and his entire body is shaking in hysterical, if relatively silent laughter. He's slapping his hands on his thighs, bent over and having a hard time breathing he's laughing so hard. I narrow my eyes, put my hands on my hips, and start to let him have it. But I find myself laughing hysterically instead. In between bouts of breathless, relieved laughter, I start castigating him. "WHAT if I'd had a knife in my hand, or been a trained black belt??! I could have totally hurt you! That was NOT A NICE THING TO DO!!!!"
He's still bent over laughing, but starts to offer some wheezing apologies. He finally stands up and, still chortling, shuffles over to sit down. I'm standing there, half fuming and half laughing, trying to calm my racing heart. And he doesn't say anything. Just sits there, giggling like a kid every now and then, mostly after he's looked over at me and seen my very, very white face.
It sounds creepy, but the reality of the situation was that he was just a feisty old guy who KNEW he could scare the little white girl at the bus stop, the girl who was being stupid anyways and who should have known better than to let herself get snuck up on. I was lucky it was him, and not someone truly creepy. I've known any number of guys (I'm looking at YOU) who would do the same thing and find it hysterical. Maybe not to someone they didn't know, but still... I'm giggling now, remembering my reaction, but mostly remembering his reaction. His giggles, and gleeful, giant grin.
Today, I was on the train, riding into work, and I again was paying absolutely no attention to my surroundings. I had my camera out, and I was snapping constant pictures of a beautiful day. And I had my headphones in. We get downtown, and about two stops away from mine, I feel a tap on my shoulder. I look behind me, and I sigh. It's a creepy looking older dude, and my instant reaction is annoyance. I'm thinking he's either going to ask me for change, hit on me, or start ranting about something crazy. I've still got my headphones in as I see his lips start moving, and I take them out because I can't be that rude. He's pointing at my pocket as I ask politely, but very obviously unfriendly-ie, what he said.
And he points at my pocket again, and in a quiet, calm voice says "Ma'am, that's dangerous." I look down, and my checkbook is sticking out of my pocket. He says "There's groups of scurrilous people going around, and one of them will distract you while the other picks your pocket. They did it to a 78 year old man the other day. It's shameful". I thank him sincerely, but I know I was shamefaced. He gave me a knowing grin, ignored me after that, and, when we got off at the same stop, walked away with a friendly "have a good day!".
The thing that got me about both of those interactions was that they were black men. And there's an awful lot of racial tension in Portland still. It's hard not to let that affect your view of the world. I mean, with the first guy, I'd have been just as scared if ANY big dude had snuck up behind me. But his race had something to do with just how amused he was at me, and just how scared I was. Because in my neighborhood, I'm the white girl. One of at least a couple, but still. I've been harassed by black men while walking home from the market around the block from my house, men who catcall and tease about the white girl who won't talk to them because they're black. I've only engaged once, with a particularly nasty fellow, who I yelled back at "I won't talk to you because you're an asshole, not because you're black", and who took it surprisingly well. But, for the most part, I ignore it. But it's there, and it lends to a tension on one side and fear on the other. Which makes me sad. I grew up with friends of all races, and I tended to get along best with the least white of the groups. Portland tends towards the pasty side of the spectrum, and it creates a false importance around color, maybe because of rarity. I MISS being able to completely look past skin color when it comes to dealing with other human beings. I try, but it's so much in their minds that it's hard to keep it out of mine. It's frustrating.
But this time, for whatever reason, I wasn't paying attention to anything but my phone. I was standing in the shelter, facing the street with my back to the wind and the rest of the world, with my face buried in my phone. And for some reason, I suddenly realized what I was doing, and how odd it was for me. And I looked up. As I was lifting my head, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up and my entire body shivered. In completely stereotypical slow motion, I turned my head to look behind me, suddenly KNOWING with every fiber in my body that somebody was coming.
Except somebody wasn't coming.
Somebody was standing, literally, right behind me. There was a giant, bulky, dark shape inches from my back. I caught a flash of his face, right before I squealed bloody murder and jumped a foot sideways, my hands going up and my body flushing with terror. It took me a half a second to register that the face I'd seen belonged to a jolly, white bearded old black man, and that half second was a really freaking long one. I finally really get a good look at him, and his entire body is shaking in hysterical, if relatively silent laughter. He's slapping his hands on his thighs, bent over and having a hard time breathing he's laughing so hard. I narrow my eyes, put my hands on my hips, and start to let him have it. But I find myself laughing hysterically instead. In between bouts of breathless, relieved laughter, I start castigating him. "WHAT if I'd had a knife in my hand, or been a trained black belt??! I could have totally hurt you! That was NOT A NICE THING TO DO!!!!"
He's still bent over laughing, but starts to offer some wheezing apologies. He finally stands up and, still chortling, shuffles over to sit down. I'm standing there, half fuming and half laughing, trying to calm my racing heart. And he doesn't say anything. Just sits there, giggling like a kid every now and then, mostly after he's looked over at me and seen my very, very white face.
It sounds creepy, but the reality of the situation was that he was just a feisty old guy who KNEW he could scare the little white girl at the bus stop, the girl who was being stupid anyways and who should have known better than to let herself get snuck up on. I was lucky it was him, and not someone truly creepy. I've known any number of guys (I'm looking at YOU) who would do the same thing and find it hysterical. Maybe not to someone they didn't know, but still... I'm giggling now, remembering my reaction, but mostly remembering his reaction. His giggles, and gleeful, giant grin.
Today, I was on the train, riding into work, and I again was paying absolutely no attention to my surroundings. I had my camera out, and I was snapping constant pictures of a beautiful day. And I had my headphones in. We get downtown, and about two stops away from mine, I feel a tap on my shoulder. I look behind me, and I sigh. It's a creepy looking older dude, and my instant reaction is annoyance. I'm thinking he's either going to ask me for change, hit on me, or start ranting about something crazy. I've still got my headphones in as I see his lips start moving, and I take them out because I can't be that rude. He's pointing at my pocket as I ask politely, but very obviously unfriendly-ie, what he said.
And he points at my pocket again, and in a quiet, calm voice says "Ma'am, that's dangerous." I look down, and my checkbook is sticking out of my pocket. He says "There's groups of scurrilous people going around, and one of them will distract you while the other picks your pocket. They did it to a 78 year old man the other day. It's shameful". I thank him sincerely, but I know I was shamefaced. He gave me a knowing grin, ignored me after that, and, when we got off at the same stop, walked away with a friendly "have a good day!".
The thing that got me about both of those interactions was that they were black men. And there's an awful lot of racial tension in Portland still. It's hard not to let that affect your view of the world. I mean, with the first guy, I'd have been just as scared if ANY big dude had snuck up behind me. But his race had something to do with just how amused he was at me, and just how scared I was. Because in my neighborhood, I'm the white girl. One of at least a couple, but still. I've been harassed by black men while walking home from the market around the block from my house, men who catcall and tease about the white girl who won't talk to them because they're black. I've only engaged once, with a particularly nasty fellow, who I yelled back at "I won't talk to you because you're an asshole, not because you're black", and who took it surprisingly well. But, for the most part, I ignore it. But it's there, and it lends to a tension on one side and fear on the other. Which makes me sad. I grew up with friends of all races, and I tended to get along best with the least white of the groups. Portland tends towards the pasty side of the spectrum, and it creates a false importance around color, maybe because of rarity. I MISS being able to completely look past skin color when it comes to dealing with other human beings. I try, but it's so much in their minds that it's hard to keep it out of mine. It's frustrating.
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