I remember a conversation, shortly before I began this blog, between my friend Marie and me. I told her I was worried I wouldn't have enough things about which to write, and she--wisely-- replied, "Oh, just wait until something really enrages you. Then you'll have something to write."
Well, friends, the time is now. I am enraged. And a little drunk. But mostly enraged. Before I begin, I would like to give a shout-out to the director of my department at work, without whom I would not have seen an article about rollergirls (I am seriously considering joining a league) and thus without whom we would not have had a discussion about aggressive women at work today.
NB: I sincerely apologize for any obscenities I spew in the course of this rant, but I promise they are long overdue.
Background: I had a great night. I went to firmwide happy hour. I went to a jazz concert with friends. I went to a bar I like with those friends and more. I had conversations with at least three guys at said bar (Cafe St. Ex., btw), one of whom happened to be beautiful and a law student who had played lacrosse at Princeton. Seriously, I was not complaining, until cute P'ton lax guy started talking to two girls who seemed neither cute nor smart. But overall, it was still a good night, right?
By this time it was about 2 a.m., and I wanted to head home, so I went to the Metro, where another guy struck up a conversation. Again, lovely. And then I switched Metro lines at L'Enfant Plaza.
Can I just note, briefly, that I really don't like L'Enfant Plaza? Seriously, once I rode in a green line car with "BLOODS" graffiti-ed on the Metro map, I knew I should start transferring at Gallery Place, even if it meant an extra transfer at Metro Center. Oh well.
So I'm on the platform, and there is some really loud guy, and his friends. Maybe they are "friends." Unclear. But he is going on and on about something or another for the 8 minutes I must wait with him for my train.
"Oh, she's so fat. [words, words, words] ...she's ugly. [words, words, words] ...ugh, she's such a bitch."
At some point, a train arrives, and we all embark on our journey to NoVa. He continues talking about how fat and unattractive and terrible most people in his life are-- especially these girls, apparently.
I am fuming. I am sitting directly in front of this terrible, obnoxious kid, and I kind of want to turn and slap him and yell at him, but I have to time it right. I have always dreamed about this type of thing, but today Meghan told me she could see me being a rollergirl, and the aggression is out in full force.
The train begins pulling into the Rosslyn station.
KATE: [turns halfway around to almost face the little douchebag]: Since it seems everyone you know is ugly, fat, or bitchy, I just want you to know that you're intolerable and a douchebag."
DOUCHEBAG: [as KATE stands and waits for the doors of the train to open]: Yeah? Well, why don't you go home alone and watch some Life... uhh"
KATE: [done with him] Oh, wah, wah, wah. [Exits train]
That little shit will probably never read this, and-- if he does-- he will have no grounds to sue me (it sounded like he was in law school) because I do not name him. But I offer the following complaints:
1. He clearly assumed I was going home alone because I was not with a guy. There are moments I wish I was a lesbian, if for no other reason then to call somebody out for theoretically discriminating against me.
2.If you're going to use television to attempt to insult me, learn your frickin channels. It's called Lifetime, not "Life, uh..."
3. How dare you assume that because I am alone on the Metro means I am going home to an empty apartment. I was out with work friends; screw you, douchebag. Moreover, maybe I have a long-distance boyfriend. Or one who has a cold. Or whatever.
4. HOW DARE YOU PRESUME I WON'T BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF YOU? As noted above: seriously, I could strangle this kid. Moreover, I could knee him in the balls so hard that he would not be able to drag himself onto the last train bound for Vienna or Franconia-Springfield. I mean it. I generally avoid confrontation, so if I have the balls to say something to someone on the Metro, I have the balls to stand behind it. And also, I was at least a foot taller than he.
5. HOW DARE YOU INSINUATE THAT I AM NOT A COMPLETE PERSON BECAUSE YOU THINK I DON'T HAVE A BOYFRIEND? I realize that I'm not in the kitchen baking you cookies and that scares you, but get real.
The worst part is, of course, the mots d'escalier part. It's French for "stair words," meaning the things you should have said before you left that you think of on your way down the stairs. I had a couple, most notably accusing him of being a huge sexist.
But anyway. Tell me what you think about gender roles. Or just plan to join me on the Metro for an afternoon, trying to find this kid and scream at him until he can't remember what happened.