Ride
Waiting for the bus in the mornings, at the corner of a fairly major intersection in Arlington, I sometimes feel extremely vulnerable. Exposed. Even naked.
As the drivers sit at the long light, waiting for their turn to go again, I can feel eyes on me. I try not to make eye contact, but some are insistent. The workers piled into the white pickup truck lean out their window, whistling and shouting at me in words I can't understand. Men in delivery trucks and service vehicles honk their horns, startling me as I try vainly to read my newspaper. The creepy man who works in the dry cleaner's behind my stop comes out to "flirt" with me.
It's not that all these situations happen every day. The point is that standing out there, even bundled up under layers of scarves, hats, and puffy windbreakers, I can feel eyes on me. It makes me squirm, sends my skin crawling. Having people look at me makes me extremely uncomfortable.
This morning, I walked out and perched myself in my usual spot. Since it was chilly and I no longer have my gloves, I didn't take out my newspaper to lose myself in reading. With nothing to distract me, I couldn't miss the man in the silver-gray sports car idling right in front of me. I looked up just in time to see him staring me down. I looked away quickly to avoid eye contact. I thought the moment had passed as I saw him, from the corner of my eye, look back expectantly to the light. But then I saw the window slink down. He leaned over the passenger seat.
"Going into the city?" he asked me. He looked normal. Older, slightly graying hair. Beard. Nice suit. Sporty car. Clearly in midlife crisis mode.
Now, I will admit that this isn't always a situation that I would say no to. If it's someone I know, I'll gladly hop in the car and bypass the bus. Once, I even took a ride from a tow-truck driver after having waited more than 45 minutes for a bus just to go two miles down to Other Gus's place. He had driven by three times and took pity on me. And mad as hell at the bus driver, I climbed up into his cab without reservation.
But something about the man this morning felt... sleazy. Even if he wasn't a serial killer, the way his eyes burned through my fleece-lined coat set off little warning bells in my ears.
I shook my head. "Thanks, though," I said, offering him a taught smile that concealed my lips. He said something else to me, but as traffic was starting to move, I couldn't hear it, and so he rolled up his window and drove off.
I don't know, maybe this is a classic example of Sarah-the-untrusting. It's possible his offer was entirely innocent. But I guess for me, feeling exposed was better than finding out.
As the drivers sit at the long light, waiting for their turn to go again, I can feel eyes on me. I try not to make eye contact, but some are insistent. The workers piled into the white pickup truck lean out their window, whistling and shouting at me in words I can't understand. Men in delivery trucks and service vehicles honk their horns, startling me as I try vainly to read my newspaper. The creepy man who works in the dry cleaner's behind my stop comes out to "flirt" with me.
It's not that all these situations happen every day. The point is that standing out there, even bundled up under layers of scarves, hats, and puffy windbreakers, I can feel eyes on me. It makes me squirm, sends my skin crawling. Having people look at me makes me extremely uncomfortable.
This morning, I walked out and perched myself in my usual spot. Since it was chilly and I no longer have my gloves, I didn't take out my newspaper to lose myself in reading. With nothing to distract me, I couldn't miss the man in the silver-gray sports car idling right in front of me. I looked up just in time to see him staring me down. I looked away quickly to avoid eye contact. I thought the moment had passed as I saw him, from the corner of my eye, look back expectantly to the light. But then I saw the window slink down. He leaned over the passenger seat.
"Going into the city?" he asked me. He looked normal. Older, slightly graying hair. Beard. Nice suit. Sporty car. Clearly in midlife crisis mode.
Now, I will admit that this isn't always a situation that I would say no to. If it's someone I know, I'll gladly hop in the car and bypass the bus. Once, I even took a ride from a tow-truck driver after having waited more than 45 minutes for a bus just to go two miles down to Other Gus's place. He had driven by three times and took pity on me. And mad as hell at the bus driver, I climbed up into his cab without reservation.
But something about the man this morning felt... sleazy. Even if he wasn't a serial killer, the way his eyes burned through my fleece-lined coat set off little warning bells in my ears.
I shook my head. "Thanks, though," I said, offering him a taught smile that concealed my lips. He said something else to me, but as traffic was starting to move, I couldn't hear it, and so he rolled up his window and drove off.
I don't know, maybe this is a classic example of Sarah-the-untrusting. It's possible his offer was entirely innocent. But I guess for me, feeling exposed was better than finding out.
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