Hippie Santa Calls Me A Fat Bitch, Or How This Day Totally Almost Sucked

 


 

Man, today was rough. Not like, “My leg fell off and my house was knocked down by a tornado” rough, but more like, “I feel surrounded by negativity and aggression, everything in my life is changing AGAIN, and there is just no chill up in this joint. Also I’m tired.” I’m moving tomorrow, which is both exciting and frustrating. I feel like I just moved (because I did), but I know that this change is for the best and will ultimately lead to me feeling happier and free-er in my living environment. So that’s cool. But my life has been full of looking for furniture, scheduling U-Haul trucks, packing things without boxes (I need boxes), and overall just trying to hold it together. 

Anyway, as I was driving to work tonight, I pulled up to a stoplight on C Street (for those not in Anchorage, it’s one of the bigger roads we have. Which isn’t saying a whole lot). I was deep in thought and the next thing I see is this large, angry, long-haired older gentleman yelling at me from an orange taxi cab. I tune into his rant, and he looks deep into my eyes, glowers and yells “FAT BITCH!” and speeds away as fast as his car could take him. My first thought was… blank. This happens to me periodically. Strangers say/yell/shout/throw mean words at me, mostly about my weight. Every time it happens I have these revenge fantasies where I stand up tall, look the person (or persons) straight in the eye(s), and demand their respect. “I am a strong independent woman!” I would say. “I demand to be treated with respect!” 

But that never happens. Usually I’m too shocked, hurt, angry and confused that my brain shuts down for a second. Like, I couldn’t even make words if I wanted to much less articulate powerful words about how I really am a good person and they should be nice to me. As usual when this kind of thing happens, the drive-by attack blows me back and the person makes their swift, convenient exit, leaving me to wonder why people are so lame sometimes. When I was younger and I had to walk everywhere or take the bus, these kind of “yell hurtful things outside of the car as they drive by” episodes would happen with shocking frequency. It’s such a vulnerable feeling, to be at the mercy of other people who can remain anonymous and make passing hurtful comments, laughing at my shocked and hurt reaction as they drive away.

As my train of thought starts its motors back up and I start processing the events that have just transpired, I think to myself “What did I do wrong? What could have brought on this aggression?” I usually take that really hard, and it affects me for a while. I’m also usually too ashamed to tell people. It’s embarrassing to be picked on, teased, made fun of. But you know what? I’m not letting people like that guy hurt me, judge me, or in any way dictate how or what I feel. In fact, he’s a coward and a mean person and a lame dude. I feel kind of sorry for him, in a way. To carry around that kind of anger on a constant basis must be very lonely. I’m taking the high road, letting the haters hate if they need to, and moving on with my wonderful life. 

Also, I’m in need of moving boxes if anyone can help a sister out. 

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