Shell

Tonight, I walked into a gas station to buy some oil for my car. When I found what I needed, I approached the counter to purchase my items. I plopped down the two quarts of oil and watched the clerk visually assess my purchases and then I saw the birth of his eminent confusion as he juxtaposed the purchases to the purchaser: a 5’11”female, alone at a 7-11 at 11pm.

He babied me with his eyes and asked "Are you sure you know what to do with that?" Ignoring his condescension, I smiled and politely said "yes." He lackadaisically completed the transaction, and then said, "I'm not sure you do... Is your boy-toy going to help you with that? You know, so you don't get too dirty? Girls can't do anything with cars."

I gave him a blank stare and just said, "Nope. And this girl can." I then asked for a paper funnel (for obvious reasons) and he smirked back and said, "Why- are you gonna bake me a cake, babe?"

He winked at me and I walked away.

On my drive home, I had a lot of time to think about this whole transaction, and to go slightly Anne Lamott on you, here are my thoughts.

Initially, I was shocked, but I was shocked because of the absence of what I felt. I realized that I am not disgusted by this, not saddened by this, not offended by this, nor furious about this. I am not overwhelmed; I am not even upset.

What I am is curious: curious how this individual has become immune to the existence of other human beings and completely disregards any level of sensitivity. I am curious how reality looks in his brain. I want to know what color his thoughts are, how he shades his words, and what he highlights.

Maybe this event struck me because I have not experienced this level of disrespect in my young adult life. Or maybe I just have never been aware of the consequences of what was actually happening to me. He wasn't telling me that I'm dumb, that I'm pretty, or that I ought to be in the kitchen. In his words, what he said was “You are a shell.” He said, “I do not see you.”

My intention in sharing this experience is not to shake my fist at all the men in the world, or to push any feminist agenda or shame men for being so patronizing. This is not to dismiss encounters of chauvinism and misogyny that have become far too regular. Misogyny is real and it is alive, and we women are very good at fighting fire with fire.

I want to share this because of what this event showed me in an inexplicable way was: I have been blessed a million times over to have grown up with men and women that respect one another: in speech, in action, in thought, in practice, in theory, and in mind. The men in my life have modeled for me what I deserve and how I deserve to be treated (further-- how I deserve to be spoken to.) I have been given the gift of personhood in the eyes of the men in my life.

This one instance at a 7-11 in the middle of Aurora with a rude stranger was a small and futile experience to me. But it still stuck, because here I am, writing this. I keep asking myself "why?" But I am trying to listen to the impulse i my soul to write.

Maybe I should have defended myself. Maybe I should have chewed him up and embarrassed him. Maybe I should have given him a taste of his own medicine. But I didn’t.

I didn’t because I don’t need to prove my womanhood to him or to anyone else. I do not need to justify my purchase of motor oil simply because of my gender.

When I look at someone, do I see them? Or do I see what I want to see? Do I see what I expect to see? Am I really seeing someone as they are? As unique, wonderfully and fearfully created children of God? Or am I putting them in a box?

I think we underestimate the power of our words in the potential to alter someone’s reality. Language is the currency of life’s transactions. When I wake up tomorrow, I want to choose to put on my humanity. The only way to put out a fire is to neutralize it.

When we put out a fire, we do not douse the entire fireplace with water and change the square footage into a pool. We do not tear down the fireplace and vow to never be warmed again. We put out a fire by ending the flame at its source and not replacing it with anything. We put out misogyny by choosing to fight as pacifists. Respect and sight will be my weapons of choice.

What I want to share is a thank you. A thank you to the men who treat other men and women with respect. To the women who treat other women and men with respect. To the people who treat other people with respect. To the people who buy motor oil and the people who bake cakes. To the people in front of the counter and the people behind.