 |
| Me and Bae (driver's license) on our sixth anniversary |
I celebrated by not driving. Yup, that's right! Kicked my heels up and let someone else worry about steering, directions, and traffic. In fact, I've kicked my heels up and haven't driven 210 out of the 215 days we've had of 2015.
I go back-and-forth on whether I miss driving or not.
Somedays, it's really nice to sit back and relax, reading my book, listening to a podcast, and having 30 extra minutes to zone out before work. But then there are the days where the subway car is packed wall-to-wall, personal bubbles are popped, and the monotone MTA voice speaks the words no one wants to hear: "We are delayed because of train traffic ahead". Those are the days that I realize how nice it was to have my own car.
It's quite a lifestyle change to switch from car to subway. I rode the bus a lot in Austin, which is honestly why I think I was able to adapt to the subway. I knew riding public transportation meant you had to be a bit more aware then if you're just driving, (YES, mom, I know you should be ~totally aware~ when driving, but you know what I mean).
There were some sketchy folks on those Austin CapMetro buses (ask me about the woman who sat next to me and snorted a pill, it's one of my best anecdotes!), but they kept to themselves for the most part. That's why I was completely startled when a guy tried lifting up my dress in a rush-hour-crowded 1 train on my third day in NYC. That would startle anyone, right?
Sadly, street harassment is nothing new for women, particularly in New York City. I am now constantly aware of how my outfit will register with men, and in turn, how they will treat me.
One night I was riding home around midnight, reading and listening to music, with my sandal-clad heels kicked up on the perpendicular seat in front of me. An older white man with slighty dirty work clothes sat on the same perpendicular row of seats as my feet. So I gave him a quick, polite smile as I moved my feet down. I'm not a monster!
Several minutes later, I saw him lean in and move his mouth. Oh, he was talking to me. I removed a headphone.
"I'm sorry?"
"I was just wondering if you'd let me suck on one of your toes."
"What???"
"Yes they're so beautiful!"
"UHM NO"
(Cue headphones back on)
"Not one little suck?"
"NO."
(Cue ignore)
And as he got off several stops later, he offered one last "I really wish you would consider it".
(Cue continue ignoring)
So now I can't wear SANDALS without getting commented on by a guy???? Like WHAT??? It was definitely one of the most bizarre situations I've experienced in New York City. I'm still perplexed by it all. Plus if you know my toes at all, you know they are nothing to write home about, with clear marks from years of dancing. I repeat, WHAT???
July 31st, 2015, I wore a black skirt, white crop top, and berry-colored cheetah print shoes that matched my berry-colored lipstick.
It was a good outfit. I felt happy and fun in it. It received praise from co-workers (Hi, Kayla and Samra), so I decided to wear it to a friend's party that night.
 |
| At said party in said outfit, with some fly people |
Wearing it while out doing after-work errands, I was able to gauge a consensus reaction from men. The security dude at my apartment's management building staring at my boobs while saying he needed to take my building-pass photo, a man standing at the bottom of the stairs looking up while I walked down (IN A SKIRT), a sneaky guy in sunglasses on the train. Okay, I didn't feel happy and fun in it anymore.
It was at that moment that I wouldn't want to wear it late at night on the subway. It was the end of the week, I was in no mood to either fake nice to a guy to appease him, or ignore him as he constantly peppered me with questions.
I requested an Uber car. The first words the driver said after confirming that he was indeed the Uber driver was a compliment to my perfume. "Very nice, clean, and attractive," he said. Headed to a party, I was in a good mood and simply accepted the compliment. We had a nice conversation about where he was from in India, then a quick compare-contrast about his hometown versus New York City. It was nice. We hit some traffic, but my pre-party vibes were very real, so I didn't mind.
Then out of nowhere, he asks,
"Why is your accent so... nice and good?"
(Cue nervous chuckle)
"Haha, well I used to do broadcast journalism in high school???"
"OH THAT MUST be why your accent is so nice. It is very attractive and innocent and s-e-x....y"
(Cue calling Mama Fitz)
(Cue 10 minute phone call with Mama Fitz until I reached my destination)
I repeat for the third time in this post, WHAT??? I had ordered the Uber to avoid this. And yet there I was, in an even more intimate situation than a subway car, getting this bullshit. If I had known I'd experience that in the Uber car...well, what were my other options for transportation? This was a day that I realize how nice it would be to have my own car where I could be in a safe space.
Part of me thought I was lucky because it was verbal rather than physical. No, fuck that.
If women can't be safe in a car or just public transportation, where can we be?
No comments:
Post a Comment