Sunday afternoon, after a weekend that saw more than its fair share of errands, chores, and video games, we walked down to the local theater to see a matinée screening of Guardians of the Galaxy Volume 2.

Before we go any further let me address the obvious. The thing many of you probably know. I am a cranky old lady who likes things a certain way and is often frustrated and annoyed with the actions of others. Like all others. I don’t have a list of people who I find frustrating or annoying. I have a list of people I don’t find frustrating or annoying. No that’s inaccurate. Let me restate. I have a list of people who are so endearing and amazing to me that I overlook any annoyance or frustration I feel for them because I love and celebrate them.

What I’m saying here is that I’m probably not the kind of person you want to go to the movie with because I often find the completely socially acceptable behavior of people in public places to be an annoyance and it’s not entirely unlikely that I will complain about it later.

But it is something I do know about myself so I strive to keep it in check or just stay home.

But I love movies. Particularly super hero movies. And my heart has a big soft spot for the Marvel universe. And it’s been a rough few months and I needed some mindless entertainment. So to the local theater we went. With popcorn. And beverages. And we sat in the same seats we always sit in because while they are old they are perfectly comfortable and do not squeak and are in what I would consider to be the perfect viewing location. Plus there’s a little wall in front of them on which I can set my drink or prop my feet.

And the theater started filling up. And it got crowded. And my normally empty row saw people filing in first on one side of us and then on the other. And wouldn’t you know it a group of three adolescent boys filed in and sat next to me. And I am not ashamed to admit that as they started talking loudly and boisterously I immediately prepared myself for agitation. And told myself that I couldn’t ask them to be quiet until they had been a disruption at least three times after the movie started.

I know I’m a killjoy. I know I’m easily annoyed. I also know that it’s usually more my problem than anyone else’s.

And then it happened. In the midst of their talking and laughing and showing each other pictures on their phones one of them kicked over a glass soda bottle. I heard it spin. And I heard that telltale gloop and sizzle as the sticky sweet highly carbonated beverage spilled over the floor. And the kid who had kicked the soda over reached down and picked up the bottle to examine the fullness and declared “that’s not too bad.”

And all three of them stood up at once. And I, being the pessimistic person I am, expected that they would just walk away to another set of seats. Instead the three set into action. One of them, closest to the door, declaring “I’ll go get some towels!” while the second turned on the light on his phone to shine it on the area. The boy who had spilled looked around to make sure it went no further and said “I’m sorry I got it on your shoes” to the boy who was lighting the area as the third boy ran back in with a handful of paper napkins. The spiller began to clean up the mess while the third boy ran out to get more napkins realizing that the first batch wouldn’t be enough.

They cleaned up the entire mess, threw away the napkins, and were settled back in chatting happily when the previews began. They talked in hushed tones through the previews and then silence fell on the lot of them for the entire movie. The only noises I heard were the crunching of popcorn and laughter.

They were good kids who I immediately judged too harshly just because they sat in my cranky row.

And I was happy to be proven wrong. This time.

 

 

 

I woke up this morning with a feeling I can’t shake. Sad. Distant. Nauseous instead of hungry. I saw my kid off to school. And might I add that my kid looked particularly cool today wearing a studded jacket I’d purchased as a gift for them on my first ever trip to Europe. Mentally I acknowledged that it was a pleasant thing to see them enjoying a gift I’d gotten for them. I knew it should have lit up that happy part of my brain. But instead I just acknowledged that there was a blank spot where that happy feeling should be.

I thought about pouring a cup of coffee and starting my day. It was early and typically I let myself take it easy on Friday mornings. I start later than normal. I don’t take meetings. I work in my pajamas. I didn’t feel the need to comfort myself, to give myself that Friday morning gift of calm, but there was a space in my brain where I knew that need belonged. Also I wasn’t prepared to brave the online world yet. So I went back to bed.

The warm arms waiting there should have been a happiness. The soft pillows should have brought calm and joy. The heavy comforter weighing me down should have been soothing.

There was a space in my brain where all of that belonged. And I knew it. But it wasn’t there today.

So I slept. Hard dreamless sleep. Drooling on my pillow out cold sleep. Sleep until the alarm goes off and wonder where you are kind of sleep. And I wondered only briefly before I realized I was in my own bed. And it’s still the day it was when I woke the first time. And I was still just sitting on the outside looking in.

The only thing I feel today is blue…

And also completely and utterly unable to concentrate.

Travel can have its ups and downs. And sometimes it’s really hard to keep a good attitude in the midst of shitty stuff happening. But my ability to keep my calm and be positive while traveling is something I take pride in.

But that positivity can go a little too far. After about 12 hours of travel today as I was getting off my last flight I reached under the seat to grab my bag as I was getting ready to get off the plane and noticed there on the floor an open wallet. A very distinctive open wallet.

An open hard-case polka dot wallet.

For those of your unfamiliar with my propensity for dots, I have a lot of polka-dotted items. I like polka dots. And that affection for the pattern helps me keep track of my stuff and cuts down on decision fatigue. I need a new suitcase, what should it look like? Polka dots! I need a new cable pouch what should it look like? Polka dots! I need new underwear what should they look like? Polka dots!

You get the point.

So when I saw that hard-case polka dot wallet lying on the airplane floor I knew that it was either mine or someone else had very good taste in wallets. I picked it up and hastily glanced inside. I noticed my id and all my cards were present and I breathed a sigh of relief. It must have fallen out. I have no idea how it had fallen out since I had shut my bag up tight, but that must be what happened.

Until I checked the cash section and emergency cash section. And both of those sections, they were empty. And the first thought I had?

Well at least they didn’t take my ID and credit cards.

And I stuck with that for a few minutes. For a little while I actually thought I had a nice thief. Oh that thief was so nice they only took all my cash money.

But then as I continued walking I started to question that. I had been violated and instead of being angry I’m thankful that they ONLY took some of what belongs to me? I decided to give my goody-goody always look on the bright side self a pass. And now I’m mad. I’m just mad.

And sad. Hey thief. You fucking suck.

But seriously, thanks for not taking my id and cards. And thanks for leaving my wallet where I could find it.

But you suck.

Yesterday I worked. I ran errands. I worked some more. And then when I realized it was time to head out the door to a happy hour I threw my jeans and a black tank top on, put on my sandals, ran a flatiron through my hair, threw on some bb cream, mascara, and chapstick and then I grabbed my purse and stepped out the door to start my 6 or so block walk to catch a bus.

As I was waiting to cross the street at the cross walk  a block from my home some guy in a big white truck stopped so I could cross. As I often do I waved and smiled in thanks as I was crossing the street and once I made it across and he began to drive away he wolf whistled at me and yelled out “Oooh baby…” The rest of what he said blew away in the wind of traffic as I walked west and he drove east. I didn’t take the high road, I flipped him off.

A block or so later another cat call from another car.

And after that a man, very likely with some mental health issues for which he was/is in need of assistance, had thrown himself on the ground screaming about bitches and cunts and how much they hurt him.

And then on my bus ride on a mostly empty bus a man decided he needed to sit next to me. Despite all the empty seats. I told him to sit elsewhere.

That’s enough, right?  That should be it.

After I got off the bus, as I walked toward my destination, another guy decided he just needed to know where I was going. Followed me asking.

All of those incidents happened in the span of 45 minutes in close-in Southeast Portland.

And while each instance occurred my first thought was to blame myself. Had I worn something revealing? Had I put on some item of makeup or clothing that screamed  for folks to harass me? Had I suddenly gotten so super amazingly hot that folks just could not control themselves? I wanted to grab the baggy sweater from my purse and put it on but it was 80 degrees with the sun beaming down and I was already sweaty.

And then I thought about my kid. If some asshole catcalled my kid would I think they’d worn the wrong thing, had on too much makeup, needed to put on a sweater? No. No I’d just be pissed off that in this civilized world people still can’t walk a few blocks without the judgement of others being loudly passed. Without being sexualized. Without being harassed. Without being objectified. Without someone making sure that we all know where the balance of power lays.

I soon arrived at the pub to meet two guys prior to the happy hour. And I was relieved to see them. My partner and his friend sitting in the well-lit pub. The waitress came over and I was relieved to see her smiling face. When she asked if I needed a drink all I could say was yes. And my drink order included an “and” as I had a cider to be social and a bourbon to settle my very frazzled nerves.

That was the end of the overt stuff. The aggressive display of societal power. The end of the intentional reminders that I am less than. That I am other. That my body is just there to entertain those who pass. Those who have the power. That was all I had to take from street harassers yesterday.

But the problem wasn’t quite over. The balance of power, of societal control, was still front and center.  At the happy hour I attended for a startup blog and the maker community I was the only woman at the table. Guys came and went. Some really nice guys with whom I genuinely enjoyed conversation. There were a couple of people, one in particular at the other end of the long table I would have liked to connect with but didn’t have the chance before I left. Many I did speak with. A few I avoided as I listened to them dominate their conversations.

But each time a woman walked out onto the patio I waited hopefully to see if she would join us. If perhaps I could cease being the only woman in a sea of men. There were about a dozen folks, give or take, who showed up for the meetup and for the most part they were white dudes.

As my partner and I headed toward home I just started to rant. About the creepy guys on the way to the happy hour. About all the men at the event. About all the men and white folks at all the events in Portland. I had no point. I had no conclusion. I had fear on one hand and disappointment on the other.

And I had had enough social time. I was tired. I was done. I just wanted to get home with my kid and my partner and have a meal and watch a mindless show on tv and sleep.

***

12 hours later and I’m sitting at the airport. I’m early for my flight and I’ve already eaten breakfast. So I sit by the window a few gates away from my departure gate waiting to meet my teammate. When I sat down here an hour ago it was just me. Me in my big black boots, my quirky polka dot skirt (it has pockets!) and my WordPress t-shirt. The sun is streaming in. Glaring. So huge sunglasses hide most of my face. As I’ve been sitting here working the gate has slowly started to fill. The seats are mostly still empty but those that are filled are filled by men waiting for their flights. Again I am the only woman. And as I’m at the airport and clearly going somewhere all these guys make me think about all the guys where I am going.

I’m headed to my company’s yearly grand meetup. A week where all of us in a wide-spread distributed workforce gather for 7 days to work and play in one location. This year we’ll be in Whistler, BC.

I’ve been really looking forward to this trip as a time to connect with my teammates and those in the company I have the honor of working with. To meet coworkers with whom I haven’t had the chance to connect. To laugh, to think, and to have important discussions.

But as I sit here I’m reminded that most of those coworkers are men. Most of them. Automattic works hard to ensure that it is a safe and positive place to work for all of its employees, but I am still aware that I’m walking in a minority. Which usually isn’t something I mind. I’m used to being the only woman at the table. I’m used to being the exception and not the rule. I grew up with a brother. My friends have always been boys.

I’ve never exactly felt welcome in a community of just women. A community of sisterhood.

But after last night I’m tired. I’m tired of being the only or the exception.