May be subject to the Uno reverse.
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Please review Municipal Code §7, wherein it is stated,
“You are harder than ten men.”
Not my words. I was amongst many on that day, and the following still occurred:
I rolled out of the parking lot for the regular Tuesday evening ride. Five of us missed the light, and as we waited, the occupants of a white SUV with plate number [redacted] began to holler at “blue shirt” (me) suggestively.
“Oh no, not me,” I said quietly.
The vehicle proceeded to follow us through two more intersections after the light turned green. They continued to comment on me as they passed slowly, to which I replied,
“I memorize license plates.”
They declined comment.
The driver paused briefly at the next stop sign, and I assumed they were still intent on this game. And, Your Honor, as I slowed the scenario down in hindsight, asking myself why I chose to respond the way that I did next, I realized that the absurdity of their behavior did not say “we are committed to threatening you,”
it said “we are playing with power we aren’t prepared to own.”
So I rolled directly up next to the passenger door of the SUV as they quickly rolled their windows up.
“Awww, roll your windows down,” I said.
Another rider told me not to egg it on, so I rode ahead and rejoined the group as the vehicle turned and disengaged.
A different rider let me know he had turned his camera on, in case anything was to escalate.
But, how was I more certain than not that that would not happen?
I grew up scanning for and reacting to threat in my own home. I lose my shit over loose dogs often. Why did a motorist objectifying me on a bike produce not fight, not flight,
but you won’t actually follow through here?
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One afternoon, I was walking out of Walmart toward the back of the parking lot where my van was parked. By a nearby car, I saw a couple in an altercation and the woman continuously getting in the face of a man who remained argumentative and braced. As I continued my line toward my vehicle, a single small bag in hand, I said,
“Hey, hey, what’s going on here?”
The couple immediately separated, the man began to walk toward the store, and the woman said something like, “If you knew how much this asshole was cheating on me,”
“Yeah, maybe not in a public parking lot,” I replied.
They continued to bicker covertly as they headed toward the building, but a beating no longer appeared imminent.
I got into my van and soon saw the man making a beeline toward the four-lane road on foot, walk out into traffic, with the woman now following him yelling again.
I hope they get that worked out.
The next day, the head of security came through the coffee line at work and overheard me telling the story to my coworkers.
“That’s brave,” he said, holding sharp eye contact.
And I understood the implication. Intervening could always go poorly, which is why it is never advised.
And I won’t recommend my choices to anyone else, either.
On the contrary, I have been the person that needed an adult to step in, and didn’t have it. I became that person, and I cannot revert to the bystander or passive object with a clean conscience.
Why has that been effective, even if only for a moment?
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Pursuant to the ongoing matter of “I bet you’re wondering how I ended up in this situation,” the following prior statement is entered into the record [Chiaroscuro].
One day, after about two months, I received a text at work from my roommate saying, “Come home please,” followed soon by a “Nevermind.”
When I got home roughly 30 minutes later, I saw two men leaning on my van with my roommate cornered in her car. I parked the loaner I had driven in the homeowner’s driveway and walked over.
“Please take your hands off my vehicle,” I said. My roommate’s husband, now out of jail, gave me the ol’ up-and-down as he stepped away and cloaked himself in smugness, while the 6-foot-something guy behind him had a general air of “Oh, f***.”
I locked eyes with her husband and asked “Do you want to explain what’s going on before I get it from her?”
“We’re just having an argument,” he replied in a small voice.
He wasn’t even supposed to be there. I told them both to step away so I could talk to the woman crying in her front seat. Her words told me a story of “not a big deal,” while her shaking voice and constant scanning for him as she talked to me suggested “this is not safe.” She left with him that night anyway, and I told her to let me know if she needed anything.
It was a week or two later when he was arrested again for assaulting her in a Walmart parking lot.
I have a theory.
In the event of conflict, perceived threat, discomfort, to any degree, we often respond with fight, flight, freeze, or fawn.
But in my case, it seems to be focus.
And that mechanic is why I remember not only events, but can also casually write or talk about them with exact behavioral and somatic indicators like an artist describes their process.
Feeling is faster than logic, and I allow them to inform each other, not argue.
With that being said.
My former roommate’s husband met me at the bottom of the driveway as I approached. He and his huge friend both immediately complied with my insistence they stop touching my property, but only the little guy engaged directly. When I say he was “wrapped in smugness,” what I was watching was how his attempt to downplay the situation was accompanied by this stiffness in his body and his voice. It had an air of petulance.
Petulance is not a trait that is sure of itself, either. It’s a defense.
Why are you defensive if nothing is wrong here?
After I moved to talking to my roommate, my objective became ensuring the situation did not escalate again as well as determining threat level from her indirect feedback, everything she was not saying. Meanwhile, a red car showed up and after some conversation with the two men, the big guy left with it. As my roommate went inside to grab some items, I kept my position, leaning against my own van, and her husband came up and leaned against her car near me while he waited for her.
“Have you been riding a lot lately?” He asked.
“I am not interested in having a conversation with you,” I replied, not looking up from my phone, but still watching from the corner of my eye.
“It’s okay… I’m used to it,” he said in a lowered, victimized tone.
I ignored him.
You have zero influence here.
Over the course of the next few weeks, after the man was back in jail, my roommate began to explain how he had recently disclosed he was diagnosed with a psychiatric condition known as “psychotic explosive disorder,” as a child (if true, the correct term is intermittent explosive disorder), marked by uncontrollable episodes of rage and often violence. She invoked this condition when defending how much this man, whom she was clearly devoted to, needed her because everyone else had historically given up on him.
“Then why is he on his best behavior when I am around?”
She declined comment.
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Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,
I once again return judgement to you.
I do want to leave you with the ongoing, lifelong experiment I seem to keep running, though.
An overwhelming majority of human communication is nonverbal. We’re all talking and reading even when we aren’t. Most of individual and group behavior, personality shaping, reinforcement, learning, etcetera are operating at a level that the conscious mind does not directly access by default.
“Actions speak louder than words,” exists as a nod to that understanding, but the information that behavior passes along isn’t just in body language cues or catching lies.
It’s in the repeated exhibits of what a person chooses to say, what they omit, inflection in certain words, pauses before responses, emphasis, sidestepping, criticism they project when they are questioned, “vibes are off, bro” feelings within yourself.
Reactions are automatic; they bypass reasoning and language filters and are accounted for after-the-fact.
And because of that, they are very, very difficult to manipulate,
prone to breakage when the unconscious is caught by surprise,
and only hold up to scrutiny when you stand on your shit.
Which is why when someone says to me “Genna, you read too much into things,”
I become curious.
And if you happen to be one of my readers who knows me in person, and has noticed how reserved I tend to be in public until I’m not, please review Municipal Code §7.
I will the machine. 