So, I am writing another blog post. Because probably about
three weeks ago now, I told myself I would write about these things. Maybe two
weeks – I’m not sure. I've lost track of the days and the weeks. I wanted to
write about trains, planes and automobiles. Specifically my experiences on
trains, planes and automobiles and my encounters with men on, in, and through these
spaces.
The stories
1 Man on train:
I'm on the train to London with a good friend. It's the end
of the day on Friday, we're pretty excited to go to a feminist talk and spend time catching up and processing all of the things. We've been at work all day - we arrive at the train station, head to the platform and the train is packed. Of course - Friday rush hour. We just about manage to navigate
the carriage to find two seats semi-close to each other. Charlie sits down on
one of the seats, but I notice that there is a thing in the way of the seat I
had my eye on. A suitcase. Next to a man. Said man was sat in his seat (the one
he presumably paid for) and his suitcase was occupying the space on the seat
next to him. In my mind, I'm thinking 'oh god, here goes... do not apologise
for asking to sit down, Tanya. Do not be sorry for your right to occupy the
space that he thinks belongs to him'. OK, so I clear my throat, prepare myself mentally for the upcoming conversation, ready in my intentionally
non-apologetic tone, and say 'is this seat taken?' (I know it's clearly not
taken - it's taken by said man's suitcase, not a person who paid for the seat). He says 'no.' I say 'please can you
move your suitcase then?' He says 'no'. I say 'I'd like to sit down. Could you
please move your suitcase?' He says 'ermmm where to?' I indicate the above
luggage rack looks pretty free to me. To which he kindly suggested that I should
in fact, move it myself. At this point, all nearby women's eyes are on him, and
eventually he sheepishly stood up, lifted his case, and awkwardly placed it on
the luggage rack above. Of course the suitcase fits and it didn't seem heavy or a struggle. I take my seat, spread my stuff out, carry on with the
journey.
2 Man on plane:
I'm on the plane from Edinburgh back to Luton, to meet good
friend (Charlie again!) – we had arranged to meet at the airport when I arrived
because we had tickets to a Margaret Atwood talk. Everything from my whole
trip in Edinburgh ran smoothly and on time, nothing went wrong (apart from one
major thing but that's for another time). So I'm at the airport (in Edinburgh, about
to come back) with enough time to buy a coffee and get myself through security. I head
to the gate, get on the plane, take my seat (fortunately no suitcase blocks my seat this time!) but I quickly realise we're not setting off and
time is passing and I am going to be late back. I texted Charlie something
along the lines of 'I think I will be late, so sorry. Argh'. 20 minutes later, we
get an announcement – it appears we're delayed because we're waiting for a man,
who is running late. OK. So entire plane held up by a man. An hour later, man
still hasn’t arrived on the plane, we’re still on the ground in Scotland and it’s
looking very unlikely that we will make it to Margaret Atwood. Thanks, man
(literally). You held an entire plane up. We missed the talk. I mean we did
have falafel and gin and a good evening anyway, but that isn’t really the point…
3 (Multiple) Men and automobiles:
OK, I got a new car and I can't even write properly about
this just yet, because just no... I’m *still* waiting for things to be finalised. Because it seems like if you’re not a particular type of person, you
don’t really get taken seriously when you’re buying a car. I know I am young
and I know I am a woman and I know I come on my own, but none of those things
mean that I’m not going to follow up with phone calls when you fail to do your
job… That gets quite frustrating when it’s a common theme in your life. But
also, when you book a meeting, to collect the car, you’d really hope that the salesmen (because I
dealt with ALL men) stick with the time and that the car is actually there (they didn't - and it wasn't). I think I
did that thing where I complained and highlighted a problem, but I then became a
problem that they didn't want to deal with, so they passed me from man to man
(all of them not helpful) and my car is great but just why does the whole process
have to be a fight from beginning to end? I walked into the car dealership last
week to follow up, and literally made the original salesman jump out of his
skin. I didn't do that on purpose. But at the same time, I did find that quite
entertaining. Especially after the text he accidentally sent to my phone saying
‘hey baby’, closely followed by ‘oh sorry. Sorry’ (and yes I intend to complain
again).
This kind of thing is everywhere, but it's so subtle that we
might not really notice. The problem when you notice is that it is literally everywhere.
Kind of woven into the language we use, the structures we live in and the
physical, relational and emotional spaces we work in. It gets to the point
where I feel it when you call me 'love' or ask if it's 'miss or mrs' or assume
that when I get my coffee I will have a student ID card. Then you feel awkward
when I pull out my staff card instead (yup I’ve got my PhD student ID card, but
that’s not really the point). I sometimes purposefully say ‘no’ when you ask to
see my student ID card because just because I *look* young doesn’t mean you get
to fill in the blanks for yourself.
This isn't intended to be a rant, it's kind of an
accumulation of instances and moments that tend to build up and then spill out.
Now they're spilling out in this blog and I'm trying to find a way to conclude
or end but there doesn't seem to be a conclusion that fits. Perhaps that's
because this sort of thing functions to create spaces in which some people fit,
and others do not (the taking up space that isn't yours, spreading out,
assuming the time and energy of others can be used and spent in a way that
costs them, but you gain from it). There isn’t really a place to end, and I don’t
really think there is an end.
I need coffee. Or gin. Maybe both. I’m writing as I’m in my
flat on a Saturday night after another wonderful (4+ hour) coffee chat this
afternoon with Charlie (again!) - we
drink these coffees and process some of this. I’m attempting to write more as a
method of self-care, but also as a method of documenting the stuff. Otherwise
it might just disappear in time, or stay in the spaces that we meet, inbetween the coffees and the office corridors and sometimes in car journeys. It
is good (I think) to put words down and document the times of having to ask, by
not asking, for something that is rightfully yours (a space, a seat, a meeting,
etc…) in a time and space which may or may not be functioning to accommodate and/or
hear you.
Right. No good at endings, and this doesn’t have an end anyway. That’s kind of
the point…
Excellent blog
ReplyDeletethank you :)
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