I am a hugely fat, tall, dark-skinned woman who strides confidently and has big hair. Can you see me? If you can’t, please allow me to introduce you to the 4H kid who’s raising your guide dog because you, my friend, are blind.
Crowd of juiced-up white people congregating around the church I pass on my way from work to the subway. I can smell the pot and see the beer bottles and know they won’t be pretty, know I want to be away from them. I need to get from Point A on the east side of them to Point B on the west. Each group I approach, I say, “Excuse me,” five or six times and with increasing volume. No one moves. Seriously? Seriously, people?
Yeah. Seriously. I have to shove past each cluster. One guy, as I shoulder my way by him, says: “Did you feel that? Something just moved by. It’s so dark out here, I couldn’t see what it was.” Seriously.
I do not have the time or patience for this level of bullshit.
I kept walking — head high, newly acquired face of belligerence in place. Yes, I could have gotten in his face, made him acknowledge seeing me. But why? And, too, it would have been the very definition of a Pyrrhic victory: there were about forty of them and one of me, and most of them were men. My decision to shove people aside so I could pass was enough of a challenge. Further aggression — physical or verbal — would not have earned me anything but pain.
But really. I have no time for this kind of crap. I am done. But other folks are clearly not done. Can someone else deal with them, please? I’m tired. Beat to my socks. It’s too many years, too much stupidity. And I’m just so tired. So tired. Worn the fuck out.