Back Off...

The other night while we were having dinner with friends I was reminded of the time I almost broke someone's fingers on the Max train.

The Max is public transportation in Portland. Electric trains.

I used to take Max when I worked downtown. The train could get really crowded at rush hours. In the morning I normally got on in Hillsboro (far end of the line) so I got a seat and would just camp out and read a book until I got downtown. In the evening I got on in the middle of downtown so was normally standing in a crowd.

For some reason that day I didn't get on in Hillsboro but at the Sunset Transit station (last stop in the west suburbs before heading downtown). The train was already packed so I had to stand in the crowd. At one point in time I felt something kind of brush my back. Which isn't abnormal. You are crowded in with a lot of people. The train is moving. You get jostled and bumped. But for some reason this kind of stood out. Then I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye. This guy had picked up some of my hair and was bringing it toward his face. (a few years later there was a guy on the Max who got caught cutting chunks of hair off of women so who knows if he was a smeller or a cutter)

I reached out and grabbed his hand basically just getting a grip on his fingers then bent them backwards. He yelped and I said, "Don't touch me" loudly. I didn't yell or scream but I wanted to be loud enough that the people around us understood why I was breaking this guy's hand. The train stopped and he dashed off.

When I told my friends at dinner about it (we were talking about how some people are willing and able to physically defend themselves, and others are not) one of my friends said something about what he looked like. He looked like any other commuter on the train. Business guy heading in to the office. Suit and all. You cannot tell a creeper by their look. Plenty of well polished suit wearers with credible accusations of sexual and physical abuse sitting in Trump's cabinet, and his office chair, afterall. They agreed. Creepers in Brooks Brothers abound.

We didn't talk about the next part of the story, it wasn't relevant to the self defense conversation we were having but I think it's kind of interesting as far as how people respond.

When I got to work I told a friend in the office about it. What a creeper. Ick. That sort of thing. We were settling in for a staff meeting at the time and a few other people heard me so I ended up telling it again for everyone in the meeting. One of the guys in the office couldn't believe my reaction. His take was that it was just hair. If I hadn't seen him I would have never known. Hair has no nerves so I was the one in the wrong because fingers do have nerves.

Now almost all of the women at the table gave a loud NOOOOO and the discussion was on. That one guy, and one woman (who would have been called a guy's girl at the time, or an I'm not like all the other girls girl, recently a pick me girl, now a Trump voting white woman) were the only two who really felt like that dude didn't do anything wrong. It's just hair. I left it with keep your hands to yourself. Don't touch other people's hair, clothes, or bodies, unless you are invited to. And if you don't follow that rule don't be surprised if I break your fingers.

It still amazes me that those two thought it was okay for that guy to touch my hair. And I'm a touchy person. I mean I was a massage therapist for goodness sake. And I literally have to hold my own hands together in public so I don't touch people's clothes if they look like they'd be really soft. BUT I HOLD MY HANDS TOGETHER SO I DON'T TOUCH THEM. Don't touch me without my permission. Heck, don't even stand too close and breath my air without my consent.

It is so weird that there are people out there that don't view you and your own body as your own. That feel like they have some sort of right to it. Touching, legislating gender, taking away health care freedoms. All of it stems from the same place. People who don't respect the space between me and them. I am my own. You have no right to anything about me.

And if you forget that, I will break your fingers.