MIF21: Looking Forward To Tomorrow (part 1 of 5)/Bus Stop Bullshit (foul language included thoughout)

I’m sitting alone with my bag in my lap and my hands folded at the bus stop waiting for the bus that’ll take me to town so that I can head to the Central Convention Complex for the MIF21 event Looking Forward To Tomorrow. We were due to have rain but I’d chosen my outfit the night before and it had yet to see the world so nothing was going to change my mind about it. It was quite balmy and warm so I had no regrets. I had on my oversized blazer, short skirt and t-shirt with knee high socks (that I had to take off at the end of the day after a day-full of pulling them up) and canvas trainers. The hemline of my skirt falls just above my knees but when I’m sitting it goes up slightly, something that I actually didn’t notice until then.

I watched drivers and cyclists pass, one of them (scooting past with a female companion)  complimented me, then I had one man walk past (wishing me a good morning and for me to take care, to which I responded the same way) only to have him, three minutes later walk past me again in the opposite direction and as I peered around the side of the bus stop I saw him look back at me.

Next I had a man cycle past, then a minute later walk up to the stop with his bike and ask me “Did I work?” 

Now a lot of shit went through my head in a nanosecond, while also taking in his scruffy appearance, his unkempt hair and missing teeth. I’d assumed he was about to get the bus which was why he has money in his hand.  Now, judge me all you want but keep in mind that in the last two weeks I’ve talked to a lot of people and I’m generally a polite, nice person anyway whose extremely naïve in some cases.

“Yes.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m a short story writer.” Now, I’m not getting paid to do it but it’s still a lot of hard work so it’s not a lie.

“Are you working?” Now in that instant the only thing screaming in my head was “Is this motherfucker asking me if I’m a prostitute!!??” Without blinking I changed my tone from friendly to dismissive, folding my arms over my bag as I replied without even thinking “I’m not at liberty to say.” He tried asking me again but I cut him off by repeating my answer, to which he turned around and pushed his bike in the opposite direction from which he had passed me. I’m only realizing now that he must have put the money in his pocket but I was too busy looking into his eyes to notice.

Now, I want to bring your attention to a number of things here. After I watched him leave I was so angry with myself for a number of reasons and my mind was racing. I didn’t know if I’d said the right thing in the moment. I should have just told him that it was none of his business in the first place. Why the fuck do I have to always be so polite?? What if all of my assumptions and instant thoughts were wrong? I felt no sense of danger whatsoever, but I felt extremely defensive and angry. 

One of my early Manc experiences with men included a mind fuck game where a guy was trying to get me to stop what I was doing and sit down to talk to him (more on those early formative Manc months  at a later date) and since then I have always HATED talking to strange men while I’m sitting and they’re standing. Psychologically I hate the power and height disadvantage. I feel like my senses are somehow stifled and I’m not able to access them. And so two of the loudest thoughts after were: Why didn’t I stand up? And there’s no fucking way I’m changing my style because of this. I can wear whatever I want if I want to. The first thought triggered me back to that early Manc moment but the rage of the empowerment from the second thought stopped it from hurting. I took some deep breaths and I was fine…..honestly, completely utterly fine. It was like I’d never felt the disbelief or anger in the first place. Nothing bad happened, I wasn’t hurt, I didn’t need to make a big deal out of it….only it was a deal, in that moment, to me. Just because I didn’t feel afraid doesn’t mean that it’s okay. Maybe my imagination was making mountains out of molehills, it doesn’t matter.  The thing is that moment had the power to change my entire perspective of myself, it had the power to make me feel scared, ashamed of my skin and my body, but it didn’t. Pride in my body (not just in my style) is something very new to me. It’s not 100% all the time but I still find it amazing. As a woman I love complementing people (regardless of gender), I love telling them what I love about their style and then keep walking on, my hope is that when I do so I don’t make them feel uncomfortable.

I don’t exactly know how to describe my interaction with this man at the bus stop but it impacted my day immensely because as I engaged in the creative writing activities at Looking Forward To Tomorrow, it informed my answers (more on that in the next post), it also stayed with me as I got whistled at in St. Peter’s Square (which made me roll my eyes). It stayed with me as I fell asleep as well. And writing this now I wonder if my thoughts in that moment are the same ones other people have had in similar situations. But what I chose to take away is the empowerment, the realization that I’ll wear whatever the fuck I want with a hemline as short or long as I want because I refuse to be afraid to. I also choose to acknowledge how lucky I am that nothing else happened in that moment but it devastates me to know that in that moment, somewhere else in the world, someone else might not have been so lucky.