Let me tell you about two experiences I've had recently involving a man (scare quotes may be necessary here) and a car. More accurately, the first story fits that description to a T, but the second one is really a conglomeration of multiple vignettes which all follow the same pattern. Except once it was a moped and not a car. And actually I think a bus was involved at some point. Forgive me.
I.
I was driving in an area of Provo I'm not as familiar with and found myself in a right-turn only lane. Except I didn't want to turn right. So, seeing that a stoplight was fast approaching, I flicked on my blinker, hoping that the driver of the car behind me would let me over so that I wouldn't have to take an unnecessary right. In this case, right was wrong.
I glanced over my shoulder to see if said car was complying, and the driver was not. Not even a little bit. He sped up. We even made eye contact, and I did my best to send him a mental plea to help a sistah out. He still kept going at that awkward speed that was just fast enough so that I didn't have room to move over, but not fast enough that he'd pass me in time for me to get over.
Alright, mister, I thought. Two can play this game. So I sped up just in time to switch lanes just before the intersection. Yes, I cut him off a teeny tiny bit, alright? But he knew I needed to get over, and he refused to let me. If he'd just let me over when I first turned my blinker on, none of this would have happened.
Now, in this situation, I would find it completely appropriate and justified for the driver of that stupid Saturn with the bike strapped to the back (sorry, Dad, for insulting a man with a bike) to have been a little miffed with me. It wasn't my finest moment as a driver, I'm well aware, and he had a right to maybe shout "Come on!" or "Pay attention, would ya?" I would have accepted that reaction. What I don't accept was his actual reaction.
Immediately after we passed through the light, he quickly switched lanes, sped up so that he was alongside me, and then switched back, completely cutting me off. I had to slam on my brakes to avoid hitting him. He also did me the honor of flipping me off out his open window. He then proceeded to drive painfully slowly right in front of me. I was overwhelmed by his mature response. Let me also note that this man was probably in his fifties. It wasn't some hot-headed twenty something with a superiority complex and a quick temper.
After the snail pace continued for a mile or so, he pulled off to my right. As I passed by him, he flipped me off through the window again and yelled some very profane, very disrespectful things at me. Not cool, bro, not cool.
II.
Every day, I walk home from work on a road that's fairly well trafficked. And during this half-mile walk, I frequently get honked at, shouted at, whistled at, or otherwise acknowledged by a male (or males—cars full of bros are the worst). Now, please realize I'm not explaining this to bring attention to the attention I get. Because I don't find it flattering, and I don't think it says anything about my attractiveness or level of appeal in any way. Quite frankly, I don't want to be attractive to any man (again, scare quotes implied) who thinks it is appropriate to yell or catcall at a woman walking down the sidewalk minding her own business. I find it disrespectful, ridiculous, and somewhat piggish, especially when those remarks are regarding a woman's body or are profane in any way.
I know I'm not the only one that this happens to. My roommate also walks that path home from work, and similar things happen to her. I've witnessed other girls get this kind of attention. It's happened on good hair days, bad hair days, and hair days in between. It's happened when I'm wearing a dress or when I'm wearing jeans and a t-shirt. All of this data I've collected leads me to one conclusion: when a man calls out at a woman, he is most likely not actually acknowledging his attraction to her. He might not find her attractive at all. He probably can't even see her face. What he is doing is exerting some sort of warped machismo that leads him to believe that he can treat a woman however he wants whenever he wants. He is not trying to flatter her. He is not trying to get a date with her. He is treating her like an object. And women are not objects. They're people.
Maybe I'm the only girl who feels this way. Maybe other girls find it flattering to be yelled at through the windows of cars. Maybe other girls don't jump three feet in the air when honked at. (I might actually be the only on that does that—I'm very easily startled.) Maybe I'm making a big deal out of nothing.
Maybe all those maybes are true. But this is how I feel. And I won't apologize for that. And I'd really like it if men in cars would start being a little more respectful. Deal?
Deal.
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