My plane was recently delayed in Dallas when a man refused to exit the place where I was waiting to board.
Security was called, and about 30 minutes later, he was carried off the plane by four police officers.
I can’t begin to imagine why someone would refuse to exit an airplane after it has landed at its intended destination.
People are weird.
Either way, it meant I had an extra 30 minutes in Dallas. At some point during my wait, I rose from my seat to use the restroom. As I wound my way through the waiting crowd, I came to a gap between two sets of seats. As I proceeded through the gap, a man to my right began to do the same. As we reached the gap at the same time, he paused to allow me through and patted me on the butt as he did.
I turned.
Oh, ” he said, laughing. “Sorry. I thought you were a girl.”
“You thought I was a girl?” I asked. I couldn’t believe what he had said, and not because he thought I was a girl. The encounter happened so quickly, and among other people, that he barely saw me.
Few people would confuse me with a girl if they got a good look at me.
My disbelief centered on his excuse for patting me on the butt.
He thought I was a girl? This made it okay?
It took me a moment to raise my ire simply because I still couldn’t believe what he had just said.
“Yeah,” he said, still laughing. “Sorry.”
Then my disbelief turned to anger.
“You thought I was a girl?” I said. “And that made patting me on the butt okay?”
“What?” he said. I hadn’t shouted my questions, but I had asked them loudly enough for everyone around us to hear them.
I think he was the one now in disbelief.
The airport is a lovely place for a verbal confrontation. Security is always nearby. You always have an audience — and in this case, it was a large one. Best of all, you can be certain that your opponent does not have a weapon. It’s one of the few relatively safe places to go to war with someone.
Thus emboldened, I pressed. “Do you touch women’s butts all the time? Is this something you do? Some sick hobby? You really think that you can just touch a woman whenever you want? However you want?”
That may not be exact, but it was close. I was spilling words at this point. Ranting in a way I so enjoy.
My volume was also increasing now, and he was quickly moving away from me, exiting the gate area, opting for retreat over a fight. It was a smart move. Verbal confrontations frighten most people because they are so surprising. People expect their indecency and cruelty to remain hidden and quiet, so when someone points it out publicly, they often panic. By now, many people were watching and listening, and the man’s chances of someone coming to his defense were tiny. As much as this man might be aligned with Donald Trump when it comes to his perceived freedom to touch women whenever he wants, I suspect that most people around us would not agree.
I considered pursuing and continuing to berate the man, but I had to pee.
Also, I had just watched four police officers carry a man off a plane. I didn’t want them coming back for me, as right had I might’ve been to continue to scold the man.
Here is what I was left thinking:
The world is a hard place for women. More difficult than I could ever know. More difficult than most men could probably ever understand. Women move through a world filled with monsters and cretins and indecent buffoons, constantly navigating around them and being forced to deal with them, often insecure about their safety, autonomy, and right to exist without being touched, propositioned, and worse.
I’ve walked hundreds of women to their cars at night, but I have never once walked a man to his car. Nor has any man ever asked me to.
More importantly, none of the hundreds of women whom I’ve escorted to their cars were ever worried about a woman lurking in the parking lot, waiting to rob, rape, or kill them.
They worry only about men.
Justifiably.
What if I had been a woman? Would I have felt secure and safe and emboldened enough to fight back as I did?
Maybe?
But I suspect in many cases, probably not. My position as a white, straight, neurotypical American man with no physical disabilities or mental illness affords me privilege and freedom that I will never fully understand. But I know that it makes verbal confrontations like the one in the Dallas airport much easier for me than for someone not so genetically privileged.
Had I been a woman, I might’ve felt less safe in confronting the man.
Also, and just as important, it probably wouldn’t have been the first time a man touched my body without permission.
The world is a hard place for women, and almost always, it’s because of men.
I know this, but moments like the one I had at the airport reinforce this understanding.
