Thursday, January 3, 2019

#MeThree


I've had three encounters with youngish women in the past month that have made me worry a little about my white male privilege and how it plays in the world of #MeToo.  Let me be quick to add here that I don't think I deserve anyone's sympathy.  All I have to do is read my Facebook feed every day to realize how the world is overwhelmingly stacked in the favor of people like me.  Furthermore, I have learned to avoid any interaction with angry young women.  I'm on their side.  I really am, but for some reason I am not able to communicate that position convincingly.

Encounter #One

When I work out at the Y, more often than not I notice a woman in her late twenties, early thirties, who spends her entire time shooting baskets.  Of course, I've been going to the Y at a later time so as to avoid all the FoxNews Republicans there.  When I used to get to the Y by 5, there was always a full court basketball game going on.  That is presumably what athletic Republicans do in the mornings when they are not looking over their shoulders for Muslims and illegal immigrants.  The games are middle-aged and white with a few old fogies thrown in trying to relive their high school glory back in the days when America was great, men were men and women ate their young.  At that time in the morning there would be no place for the girl to shoot her hoops and I guarantee you she would not be welcome in the game.

The basketball lady is fairly tall, maybe 5'8", has a slim body with powerful legs, and long brown hair in a pony tail.  She looks like she played college basketball, high school basketball at the very least.  I say that because SHE NEVER MISSES!  She rotates around the three point arc and swishes one jumper after another.  I'm waiting to see her dunk.  I know why those morning cagers wouldn't invite her to play.  She would kick their collective asses.

I walked by her the other day on my way to the weight room.  She drained four three pointers in the time it took me to walk across the gym.  I caught her eye and said "You're amazing!  Don't you ever miss?"  She barely acknowledged my existence, turned back toward the basket and drained another three.  She reminded me of Jimmy, the hot shot in HOOSIERS who refused to answer anything Gene Hackman asked him.

I was immediately sorry I said anything.  She probably thought I was just mansplaining stuff to her and being a condescending asshole like all men.  I wish I had had the confidence to tell her that her sex had nothing to do with my admiration.  I would have told her the same thing if she had been a man.  The thing is I've never seen a man shoot like that in the flesh.

Encounter #Two

I'm pretty good friends, I'm a little sorry to say, with the folks at our local liquor store.  We always make lame jokes about the Broncos and Rockies, discuss new beers, single malt scotches, the usual.  There are two young guys, a good old boy, and one twenty something girl who manages to hold her own in this all male bastion.  I went in the other day to restock and the girl was alone behind the counter.  Where she usually looks happy and smiles when she keys in my club number, this day she looked sad.  Her eyes were a little moist and she didn't act like she knew me.

There was obviously something wrong, but I didn't say anything.  I didn't ask her if anything was wrong.  I didn't  tell her to smile.  I've learned my lesson about telling women to smile!  Never again! The thing is, I felt kind of bad about my reaction.  I felt like I let her down.  I'm happy to report that I was at the store just yesterday (stocking up again) and she seemed fine.

Encounter #Three

I went to ACE Hardware yesterday to have some keys made.  It was a devastating experience.

First of all, it was a bitterly cold morning and before I went to ACE, I had to take our tree to a park in Littleton to have it mulched.  Therefore, I was wearing an old pair of wool lined warm-up pants that were a little too short.  I had an old pair of hiking boots on that were a little too ratty and to top it off I was wearing a bumpy wool sweater and one of those hats you see Inuits wearing while driving sled dogs.  In short, I looked like an old person who can't cope with extremes in weather any more.

When I walked into ACE, I got immediately confused.  They've changed the place since the last time I was there.  I mentioned that to the sweet teen-aged girl at the counter after I negotiated the maze of shelving units and candy displays leading to the register.

"It's been this way for three years, sir," the girl explained to me with an increasingly warm smile spreading across her face.

"Oh, don't mind me," I said.  "I guess I'm just getting delusional."  I noticed the girl nod at that information.

She made the keys and asked me if I needed them to be separated in plastic bags so I wouldn't get confused.

"No need.  I'll remember."  I carefully put the keys in separate pockets and patted the pockets several times to make sure they were still there.

She rang up the bill and I handed her my card.

"Sir," she gently explained, "just run it through the machine over there."  Her smile was growing warmer.

"Oh, I'm sorry.  I just didn't see it."  I ran my card and noticed the relieved look on the girl's face when I remembered my code.

I picked up my stuff and started back through the maze.

"Sir," her smile beaming now, "just use the door over there.  The one that says EXIT."

I wanted to tell her that ordinarily I am a really cool person.  She just caught me on a bad day.

It's the first time someone looked at me as if they were mentally going through the steps for CPR,  just in case.  I toddled home determined never to set foot in that store or talk to that smart ass little girl again.

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