Dearest friends, I have an alarming story to share with you. But before I do, I must provide a trigger warning for those of you who have experienced
toxic masculinity or related phenomena. The following may cause you great discomfort.
I have photographic evidence of today's appalling events but in the interest of preserving the sanctity of the Mud Pit safe space, I will post these
first few lines and return in approximately three minutes to continue my story, in order to give prospective experiencers an opportunity to avoid
potentially triggering imagery.
Also please note, I've shared the following text with several prominent (not to imply or endorse social hierarchy) humxns on Tumblr. It should be
relatively sanitized at this point but if you still find yourself experiencing escalating anxiety, please
If you are reading this, I assume that you have bravely determined that you are capable of withstanding the mental assault caused by viewing these
offensive images. Please proceed with the utmost caution.
So today, I bicycled into the city because I didn't want to drive my planet-killing Prius. I was making a lovely vegan salad with gluten free croutons
and braised tofu strips and I needed some fair trade endive.
Once in the store, I grew anxious, realizing I was surrounded by other white people. I considered leaving before anyone I knew arrived but then I
noticed that there was an Asian family at a check out and I sighed a sigh of relief, feeling that the atmosphere was sufficiently diverse.
However, things took a turn in the produce section. As I stood looking at the selection of endive, I wrestled with thoughts of the wildlife that had
been displaced by the farm on which the endive grew. Was I really enlightened?
My thoughts spiraled downward, down deep into the darkest depths as I considered all of the animals deprived of their homes and the the innocent
insects mercilessly slain during the harvest. My face flushed. I could feel tears perched precariously beneath my eyes. It was then that I realized
that all that was actually secondary. My first offense was shopping at Trader Joe's, thereby perpetuating the patriarchy. In disgust, I left, knocking
over a display of oranges that looked suspiciously like he whose name I will not speak.
Now dreading having left my mother's basement, I retrieved my bicycle and began my return trip.
On the way home, I threw a few sticks of gum to a man who was sleeping on the sidewalk. I couldn't make out what he was yelling back to me, but the
way he was shaking his fist, I believe he was encouraging me to fight the power. That elevated my spirits some. In fact, everything was looking up
until I reached the gates of my neighborhood.
And that's when it happened.
A security guard — one I didn't recognize — blocked my entrance. He exuded toxic masculinity. Probably a troglodyte who spells womyn
. Drunk on patriarchal power, he beamed micro-aggression after micro-aggression, unsympathetic to my experiences! Then he raised a hand to
I narrowly dodged. He said to me, "Hey, you. Are you sure you're in the right place?"
In the right place!? I clutched the pepper spray in my pocket, wishing my bike lock wasn't securely fastened to the frame. I assured the fascist scum
that I did in fact belong there.
"F# you rent-a-pig. You ain't gonna profile me because of my Black Lives Matter shirt. Yea, I know black people. Do you? Do you?"
He immediately became angry. I could tell by his reaction that he was probably a racist but then something happened that confirmed my suspicions. He
called his supervisor, Roy, who I already suspected of being a Russian agent. Little did I know he was also a Nazi.
Can you believe it? IN MY OWN NEIGHBORHOOD. My safe space had been violated. I was triggered speechless. I wanted to run but I knew he'd shoot me. He
smugly said something like, "Yeah, he's okay, he lives on Poplar. The tan house with the four car garage."
First off, my house isn't tan. It isn't beige, it isn't khaki — it's eggshell. I'm sure he knew that but he was just trying to send me a message
that he was in charge, daring me to correct him. Normally, I'll punch a Nazi but there was nobody there to film it so it would have been a complete
waste. I considered yanking the red Klan hat off his head, but I had been away from Twitter for too long already and I couldn't be bothered.
So instead, I peddled past him and a safe distance away, gave him the finger. I don't know if he saw it or not but I peddled a little harder just the
same. To show him how athletic I was.
Once I got home, I ground up some fair trade coffee beans and brewed a cup of coffee. I used the hand grinder to reduce my carbon footprint. Then I
went to the fridge to get some french vanilla soy creamer and to my horror — I discovered that somebody had purchased dairy creamer — made with
milk! MILK! The unnatural product of bovine torture. It seems that I just can't escape the patriarchy today, no matter how hard I try. Shaking with
revulsion, I slammed the refrigerator door and went downstairs, forgetting my raw sugar, harvested by a collective in Paraguay.
And that brings me to the present. I sit here at my Macbook, drinking my bitter coffee, nearly in tears from my frustrations.
The struggle is real my friends. The struggle is real.
edit on 2017-10-7 by theantediluvian because: (no reason given)