Men Are Scary.
Walking as a Woman in the world, on my Journey Towards Safety.
Yesterday, I got in the car with my Uber driver around 3:00p.m.
It was sunny out, and I was looking forward to visiting a new cafe in another part of town. The place was far—more than an hour by bus, and only 25 minutes by car.
So I decided to treat myself to an Uber for a little self-care, in honor of my self-care Sunday. With Uber, I would be able to arrive more quickly and safely, without having to cross the crack-infested park to walk to the bus stop, and expose myself to more male harassment on a busy, dangerous street, while I wait for a bus.
I opened the car door to my Uber and was greeted by a scruffy-looking black man. He asked me how I was doing, and we exchanged a polite greeting. Something about him was a little off, but he was being friendly, and he had a 4.87 star rating, so I trusted it would be okay.
He went around the block in a circle, then set off on the proper route towards where we were headed, and told me that Uber was taking him in circles. I looked out the back window and saw that we were indeed, only one block from where we had started, after two minutes of driving. I knew that Uber sometimes did some strange routing, but I couldn’t fathom why it would route him further away from the destination for the first two minutes of our trip. Strange, but I didn’t mind. We were well on our way, heading in the right direction.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“Mt. Airy” I said.
“Oh…you know, Uber is taking me in circles. You mind if I take my way?”
“Take your way?”
“Yeah…I’d just turn off the app to make it look like you’ve already arrived, and then I’ll take my way.”
My gut knew what he was asking. But my brain could not compute what he was asking. Because if I was most certain of what he was asking, I don’t know how cool I’d be able to remain about it.
Can you give me the quickest and easiest way to kidnap you?
So, I stammered, finding words to casually communicate a way to keep the app on while he finds a better route, while I kept a close eye on his navigation. So much emphasis on playing it cool, but it didn’t work.
“Um…you can…I…I…you can…”
“Nevermind,” he huffed, keeping the app on and continuing to drive.
We chatted. He asked me about where I was staying, how long I’ve been living where I’m at, how do I like it. I told him I’m just in town for cat-sitting work. We talked about pets. We talked about work. I made an effort to keep the conversation moving along, about boring, surface-level topics, because we had a long ride, because his mind was substanceless, dark, and idle…and I wanted to distract him from the exciting opportunity that was my beautiful body in his backseat. I was in fawn mode.
But it didn’t work. I ran out of things to say. He kept forgetting things I said two minutes ago. We fell into an odd silence. He broke the silence.
“So…you got any friends out here?”
“Yeah, I have friends.”
“No, I mean do you have any male friends.”
My eyes widened. “Why do you ask?”
“It’s just a question,” he said, his voice growing in frustration. Nevermind! he said in the same harsh tone as he did when I stuttered at his request to turn the app off.
A few things coursed through my mind.
Does he have a gun? Likely.
Does he care about keeping his job? Probably not. He just told me that he blew all his money in Miami, and he’s working to make it all back. He’s impulsive, and motivated by instant gratification.
Does 911 accept text messages?
As we turned off of the freeway, halfway through the ride, he spoke to me. “You know, we could’ve been there by now if we had taken my route.”
“Oh that’s okay…I’m not in a rush.”
I whipped out my phone and clicked the buttons to enter a chat with an Uber Safety Agent. I had never done this before.
“Hi Nevline this is Sarah from ADT Security. I am here to help. Please let me know the details of your emergency.”
“Hi…please don’t let my driver know I’m texting you. I’m still in the car…”
“What’s happening? How can I help?”
….
I know it seems like this experience must’ve prompted this piece, but the truth is, I began writing this a week ago, before all of this happened:
Men are scary.
It’s not that I’m afraid of all men. Or that I am afraid of men all the time.
It’s just that all the times I am afraid for my life, it’s because I am afraid of men. And I feel that fear often. So, you do the math. Men + Are = Scary.
I feel so vulnerable walking around alone here, most of the time, no matter what time of day it is. I am hypervigilant and sensitive.
I can read energy, and I know all the types of men. The types we have a lot of here—are the ones who prey on women in public.
I am always looking at whether a man is going to pull a gun out. I hate when they roll their windows down to talk to me. I hate darkened windows where I can’t see who is inside or what is going on. I am annoyed with how they mistake my hyperviligance for interest, and then scold me for not being friendly to them. They scold me when I don’t say Hi. They scold me when I don’t approach them after they say Hi.
They scold me as if I’m some doll who won’t speak when they press the button, like a frustrated child who shakes his toy when it doesn’t work the way he wants it to, the way the box on the shelf said it would. Like I am some walking false advertisement.