Wednesday, November 22, 2017

Dealing with Privilege: She Wants Revenge

On the stage, another concert, another corset, another Friday night on the ground and not on a plane. Taking advantage of life, living life, being in the present with life.

The current moment is a difficult one where everyone is in the process of trying to understand what it means to be a decent human being and realizing that moral ideals are impossible for anyone to obtain. Look hard enough and we have all failed at our moral ideals.

We only punish the visible targets, while so many people continue to be the embodiment of all that is awful and there is almost nothing we can do it about it.

On the stage at a concert, on the stage at another show. There is a boy hoping for sex who has shown up to impress me with his ability to appear in my presence. His desire for sex is palpable. My desire not to have sex with should be as well, but the mere fact that he took the time to show up means that I will have sex. I can read it in his face and his body language. He’s going to be very disappointed.

There are girls all around me, this show attracting the dark goth girls, and the emo girls, and the girls in black because they don’t know better, and the girls that want to wear dark eyeliner, and the girls who want to wear low cut dresses, and the girls without girlfriends, and the girls with girlfriends, and the girls without boyfriends and the girls with boy friends, and then the girls like me with the hovering date who thinks he is going to get sex.

Then there were the other ones, the privilege men who are angry at everything, especially the political moment, especially the women, especially the girls, and especially the boyfriends. Possibly the boyfriends they hate most of all because they believe that have been robbed somehow of the available female that was owed to them.

Like the sex they thought they would get just because they showed up.

I was standing on the stage and waiting for the band to come on, making small talk with the guy that showed up and actually enjoy being surrounded by the dark goth friends, all the goth girls at the goth concert, a pleasant change. I’m leaning against the stage when walking privilege approaches me.

He starts to push to my left, and I just look at him saying no with my body.

He pushes again.

See, I lift hard, I workout hard, I do close to 100 push ups a day, I kick, I jump, I scream, and I’m not fucking small. When I’m dressed in black, wearing a 20 pound corset made of leather and steel, wearing four pound Docs, and pleasantly full of tequila, I’m not someone anyone should want to fuck with.

Privilege, however, was having known of it.

“Get out of the way.”


“You’re a bitch.”


He starts to push into the girl next to me to try to move her. Her boyfriend looks up and looks away.

“You’re being inappropriate!” I shout out him. I’ve been wanting to shout these words for days, to this asshole with privilege, to all the assholes with privilege, to the world for getting away with it, at the world that will continue to get away with it because at the end of the day I’ve never been assaulted by anyone well known enough to make it really matter.

“You fucking move. I want to be on the stage. This is my favorite band.”

He dives at me again. I don’t move. The guy that showed up looks away and melts towards the back of the crowd, kicking his feet nervously.
He goes at the girl on my right side. I step in.

“If you were a man, I’d punch you. I’d fucking punch you.”

“You’re being inappropriate!”

“This is why you don’t get laid. This is why no man wants to sleep with you. Cause your a fat, ugly, bitch.”

I smile at him. Poor Privilege. How it must hurt to be defied and to be wrong.

“I”m not going to fuck you now. What do you think about that. Move. Out. Of. My. Way.”

“You’re being inappropriate.”

“If you weren’t a man…”

Privilege is a broken record, spinning the same tired words, thinking that somehow he has found a way to hurt me. Perhaps, I am supposed to melt and cry. I certainly can’t have cut the figure of an inviting target, but here we are.


“You’re being inappropriate.”

“Fuck, fuck…” Finally the boyfriends from either side of the stage turn and look at him, and finally he huffs and puffs and goes away.

The one that showed up returns behind me, “That was pretty amazing you know, yeah, that was pretty good.”

I just look at him.

The band comes on stage.

There's nothing to see here, people, keep moving on.
Slowly their necks turn, and then they're gone,
No one cares when the show is done.
Standing in line and it's cold and you want to go.
Remember a joke so you turn around
There's no one to listen, so you laugh by yourself.

The guy who showed up gave me a ride home after the show. His face was a face of wonder when the car door closed and I faded into the darkness without looking back.

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