Nametag

I’ve had a lot on my mind recently. A lot that I’ve wanted to talk to you all about. Everything from my online dating experience to walking around as a female in America to Arezzo to BYOB (Being Your Own BAE). I’ve also had shin splints recently so I’ve spent an indescribable amount of time googling how I can keep running but also not get a stress fracture. It’s been a whole TIME.

A few of these in summation:
Online dating is weird and no less awkward or hard than regular dating. It’s definitely no less disappointing… and is actually probably more so. And I’d encourage you to actually start a conversation with that person you’ve magically matched with that you think is so attractive. Just do it.
Arezzo is coming up in just about a month and I’m losing my mind. No, I haven’t started packing. Yes, I have started (re)teaching myself Italian. And I should have my visa very, very soon.
BYOB because you’ve got to take care of yourself… even if that means Michelob Ultra and Girl Scout Thin Mint brownies three nights in a row while you watch Nicholas Sparks movies because you’re feeling mopey.

Have I mentioned that there’s also school and work and trying to be a good family member/friend?

A lot on my brain.

But I’m going to go where I always seem to end up… the (capitalist, heteronormative, sexist, racist, cis, white, etc. patriarchy… probably) and tell you a story that I don’t know I’ve quite worked out how I feel for myself.

I’m an external processor. I never know where I’m going to end up. Hang in there.

On a bright and sunny recent Monday, I walked across the street separating my office from the nearest gas station. It’s your run-of-the-mill gas station… but it’s also no QuikTrip (and if you think QT is anything less than perfection, we’ll fight). I needed to get a money order, which felt sketchy in and of itself for whatever reason, so that I could turn in my visa paperwork.

Anyway, I did something that I almost never do before I went in. I took off my nametag.

I know, I know. What a banal detail to include. But track with me.

Taking off my nametag is something I almost never do. I wear it to class and often off-campus, as well. Every morning I just… set it and forget it. And there was no reason for me to take it off just because I was going into a gas station… in the middle of the day… that I’ve been in dozens of times before.

Since requesting a money order is also something I haven’t done in recent memory, I didn’t know the procedure. I walked up and asked the cashier what I needed to do in my normal, trying-to-make-friends-by-being-kind-of-funny way. She pointed to the ATM in the corner and told me there was a fee that I needed to account for on top of the amount of the money order. She was none too amused by my antics, either.

The ATM was *not* in the corner as I’d expected. It was at the end of the aisle, closest to the cashier desk. When I turned the corner, expecting to be walking down the aisle, I nearly ran into the gentleman using the ATM. So I took a step back and patiently waited my turn.

It’s worth noting in this moment that the gentleman using the ATM was older… and he was very, very tall. Heavier-set. I’m not one to be intimidated easily by the people around her.  I’m usually just as concerned with a big dude in a gas station as I am with a teenager or a small kid. I stay aware because I am a small female. It’s one of the things that I think about in public… pretty much always. I’m tiny–usually see as a weakness–and I’m a woman. And because I am aware of the way people tend to think of those things, I refuse to let myself be intimidated or scared. I prefer to think of myself as small and mighty… or something.

The gentleman finished using the ATM and turned and looked at me.

“You look very nice today,” he said.
“Thank you,” I replied, my mind was going haywire. Where was my wallet? My keys? Phone? My bank card that’s out, do I drop it? Is the cashier paying attention? Do I fight? Do I run? Thank goodness, I thought, that I took my nametag off. Otherwise, he’d know my name. My brain was so busy, I didn’t hear what he said next. But I smiled, close-lipped. And he stood there for a heartbeat longer, the length seeming to increase the speed of the calculations my brain was trying to make, before walking around me and leaving the store.

He’d done nothing to trigger that sort of response from me… necessarily. But, for me, this experience can’t help but make me think about the ways in which we interact with others in the spaces we occupy.

I, a small female (and a hundred other things), occupy a space differently than someone who is of other identities… even just one other identity.

I, a small female, have to be aware of people all of the time because society tells me that whatever happens to me, it’ll be my own fault.

I, a small female, felt instantaneously concerned about what might be typically normal behavior from a man. I’m sure he thought he was doing nothing wrong and, in fact, probably thought he was making my day better.

We don’t know the effect we have on the other people sharing space with us.

But we should think about it.

Being a female alone and wearing a dress in a gas station, having been told all my life not to wear a dress or skirt too short or a man might have the right to do whatever he wanted and it would be my own fault, quickly turned from an ordinary gas station errand to an adrenaline-pumping moment. And just as quickly, it was over.

Consider, however, the fact that he felt he had the right to speak to me. He gets to intrude on my time and invade my space because… he just gets to. And I have to listen. Smile. Nod. That is the role I am expected to play.

Can you see? Can you see how the perpetuation of rape culture in our society affected what could have, arguably should have, been a positive interaction with a stranger? Can you see how the myth that men are unfeeling beings driven solely by desire made me afraid? Can you see that the gender role I was socialized in to told me to stand and smile for fear of retribution? Can you?

Maybe you can. I’m sure you can see other things, too. I’m sure you can see things I don’t or things that I disagree with.

Maybe you think you can see me overreacting.

I’m not. But if you think I am, it’s because we have different experiences.

But isn’t that the point? We all see, feel, experience everything differently. I could go today and have that very same interaction and possibly react differently. We are shaped daily, moment by moment, by our experience. And that experience is shaped by identities that we all hold. The history that we feel. Only I can decide what hurts me. Just as only you can decide what hurts you.

Try to be aware of how your identities overshadow, oppress, affect others. And try to mitigate those negative impacts.