Song for the day: Red and White by Patawawa
Because they’re a local band who are going places and this song is so catchy for summer! Also I kind of know one of the members.
I know I’ve been AWOL a lot lately, and I’m really sorry. I’ve been depressed, anxious, and that little jaunt to A&E the other week has left me with the mother of all colds that has left me bedridden for a week. Then there was the small matter of my laptop blowing up with only a few weeks until my dissertation deadline. Urgh.
But that little jaunt to A&E and some lovely messages I’ve been getting on Twitter lately have been sort of been burning like hot coals under the surface and now I’m like a volcano about to explode.
So, @ (some) guys, I have some questions about my experiences. Because some of you are decent but y’know, patriarchal drip-down/privilege. Also, meninism is whiney bullshit. Also also, my mum’s reaction to “it was in an apology drink” was “how are you ever supposed to meet your partner in a bar”. So:
1) What do you get out of spiking a girl’s drink at a bar?
I’ve been out with friends 2 or 3 times now where someone’s been spiked. It’s quite frankly terrifying for everyone on the receiving end. The dosage of ecstasy in my friend’s drink the other weekend could have killed her. Is that hilarious to you or something? What were you planning to do, watch? Try and get her alone? Her friends wouldn’t have left her, you know. Was that what you were expecting? Did you plan to follow her home? Bet you weren’t expecting us to call 999. But it was all a laugh to you, right? Why???
2) What do you get out of sending unwanted dick pics?
What did you expect? Was I supposed to fall on my knees and thank God for my good fortune? Is it intimidation, a pathetic attempt to ~assert dominance? I got news for you: it’s quite frankly hilarious. You say yourself that it’s not what you wanted to see.
So why do we want to see them? If someone wanted to see your dick, they’d ask you. Why do you think it’s ok to just whip it out? Do you walk down the street like that? Just pop down to Tesco looking like a kid who’s dropped their worm farm down themselves? Come on man. No-one wants to see that.
3) Why do you follow us round?
When I was on part deux of my year abroad in France, my friends and I were practically on the verge of arming ourselves to the teeth even when nipping out to the laundrette. The following excerpt is a true account of what happened on my actual birthday, written up by myself later that night in 3rd person:
Clutching her laundry bag to her chest, Katie fumbled with the key to the outside door of the halls; the entry button had conveniently broken, and she always forgot which way to turn the handle. It was so that she nearly fell out of the doors, half-shocked by the way she had got it right first time. Turning tomato red, she glanced up, hoping that nobody had noticed. Thankfully, the only other people braving the chilly weather were a pizza delivery guy, and his customer, who was paying from the doors of the dorms opposite, and both seemed too busy to have seen her trip. Sighing softly in relief, Katie nearly ran the few steps to the laundry room, quickening her pace when she heard the pizza guy’s motorbike coming up behind her. Why was he on the pavement? She ducked quickly into the darkened room of the laundrette – but something stopped the door from slamming shut behind her. The pizza delivery guy had pushed his hand against the glass, and was beckoning to her, an earnest smile on his face. What did he want? Directions, maybe?
“Yes?” She asked tentatively as the automatic lights finally flickered on in the laundrette, her heart hammering in her chest.
“You’re not from around here, are you?” He grinned at her, and she shrank back a little, grasping her laundry as though it was a lifeline. His voice was strangely accented, and he was one of those unfortunate people who proved Darwin’s ape theory correct just by their looks.
“No.” Go away.
“What’s your name?”
“Rose is a beautiful name. Where are you from, Rose?”
“England.” She kept her answers deliberately short, hoping that he would get the hint, but he was persistent.
“Ah, England. Are you studying here in French?” And the fact I’m in a student residence clued you in on that, did it?
“How long for? Long enough for us to get to know each other?” Ewewewewewewew –
“Actually, I’m going home next week.”
“Next week? What are you doing tonight?” Get the fucking hint!
“Um…” Think fast, Katie. “It’s my friend’s birthday tonight, so we’re having a party.”
“A party, huh? Maybe we can talk tomorrow?”
Katie felt like she was going to cry. This had to be some cruel joke. “Maybe. Look, I really need to do this laundry, so…”
“We could get to know each other, we could talk – “
You’re about forty! “Please, I just want to do my laundry! Goodbye!”
Katie slammed the door shut, grateful that it locked on impact. The delivery guy drove off, and she sighed in relief, feeling the choking feeling in her throat loosening a little. Fuuuck! Her heartbeat was still racing a million miles an hour, and she hurried through putting her clothes in the machine. It was then that she heard the revving once more, and a glance out of the door proved her fears correct; the delivery guy was driving in lazy circles outside the laundrette, quite obviously waiting for her to come out. Shit! Shit! What the fuck do I do? Her hand moved to her pocket of her own accord, fingering the outline of her phone through her jeans. Should she call someone? Get them to come and get her from the laundry room? Just as this thought passed through her head, however, a large group of students crossed her line of vision, and she swallowed hard. This is my chance. Unlocking the door hurriedly, she joined the back of the group, hoping that they wouldn’t hate her for intruding on them, but the motorcycle revved again, and smoothly cut her off from the group.
“I am very sorry, but you are stuck in my mind,” its rider told her, pointing at his helmet as if to add emphasis, and Katie groaned in horror. She started to walk back to the doors of the dorms, but he followed at her side, his feet dragging either side of his bike. “Do you want to talk with me for five minutes? Ten minutes?”
“Listen, it’s my friend’s birthday, and I should really get back up – “
“Five minutes? We can talk and know each other; you are stuck in my head – “
“Maybe another time, ok?” She pleaded desperately. “I need to get to my friend – “
“Maybe we can stay in touch? You have some way?”
“I um… I don’t know my number, and my phone’s upstairs.” She hoped that he couldn’t see her phone in her pocket. “Goodbye.”
“But Rose – “
“I need to get to my friend!” She snarled through gritted teeth, and pulled open the doors. “Bye!”
She took the stairs two at a time, hoping to avoid the driver seeing at which floor the lift stopped – but as she rounded the corner and glanced back, he was still watching her through the glass of the door.
Do you think that’s hilarious, making a girl feel like that? Do you think it’s romantic to have to trap a girl in the laundrette whilst she’s throwing her underwear in the wash as fast as she can? Yes, everything in that excerpt happened. The lines are exactly the same, right down to “I’m very sorry but you are stuck in my mind.” How is that my fault? Was I supposed to fall down like “Sorry for the inconvenience here let me make it up to you?” I mean, by the end of my semester in Lyon I was hurling back “sucez ma bite” without thinking, but at this point I was two weeks in and it was terrifying. Is that what you wanted?
Seriously, what is up with that? It reeks of these men wanting to impose dominance but honestly it just comes off as pathetic. What is your point??? Why????????????
Anyway, rant over. The steam has been let off a bit for today at least. Back to dissertation writing I go!
Hope you’re all ok out there!