There¹s an ass in every crowd

Tuesday, May 7, 1996

What do you do when some guys just won’t quit?

I love being a woman. I look forward to having a child as much
as I do to publishing my first book. But sometimes I just wish I
had a penis and two testicles. Maybe then I’d get some respect.

I know a temporary sex change is impossible, so I have other
fantasies. Sometimes, I wish I had a black belt or super-strong
pepper spray. Sometimes, I even wish I owned a gun. Times like last
Friday.

I was helping out at a house party fund-raiser in Westwood. I
took money and marked guests’ hands to indicate that they had paid.
I was dressed for the job: sweatshirt, jeans, pony-tail and no
make-up. I was there to work. The majority of the night was
perfect; 99 percent of the guests didn’t give me any problems. They
just paid their $3 and went in. But there’s always an ass or two in
a crowd.

Ass Number One we’ll call Mark. Mark and his friend didn’t want
to pay. Mark mistakenly thought that if he bugged me long enough,
I’d let him in for free. After telling him "no freebies," Mark got
frustrated. I don’t know if he was drunk or just a natural fool. He
walked up to me with a disgusting grin, looked down at the marker
in my hand and decided to test me. He pushed my hand upward and I
hit the bottom of my chin while he said "Shit, is this all I need
­ a marker!?"

He hadn’t hurt me physically, but he had violated me in the
worst way. I lost it. I looked at him and asked, "What the f­
are you doing?" Through a greasy smile, he replied "Ahh baby …
why don’t you just mark my hand?" The "baby" enraged me, "What the
hell are you thinking? Do you realize you touched me?"

He just kept wobbling and smiling; he might as well have been
licking his chops while surveying my body. "You need to leave," I
told him. He finally muttered a half-ass apology like, "Damn! I’m
sorry."

I knew it was insincere ­ he actually had the nerve to ask
me again if he could get in for free. To top it off, he began to
step closer as if he were going to touch me again. This time, I
stepped up to him and told him "Don’t touch me," and asked him to
leave. He wasn’t listening. After all, I was just a 5-foot-3-inch
sister with a marker in my hand.

Finally, a male friend of mine who saw the whole thing stepped
between us and told him to chill. Mark heeded his warning and left.
Obviously, the fact that my friend has "balls" earns him the right
to respect that my ovaries don’t.

Ass Number Two was named Roach. He came with eight of his
friends. He must of been the spokesperson because he tried to
negotiate a group discount. When he saw that I wasn’t budging, he
tried to flirt his way in. Let me clarify a bit, because the word
flirt implies tact. To him, flirting was leaning on a wall,
drooling over any sister that walked by and muttering things like
"um … damn … baby, let me talk to ya."

He tried this for about 15 minutes. Eventually, he realized his
suave style wasn’t getting anywhere with me or the other female
door monitor. I guess he couldn’t afford the $3 because he left. He
came back two or three times trying to get in and get our phone
numbers. Needless to say, his trifling ass got neither. This man
literally invented the word "pest." I later saw him getting a
number from a friend who was exhausted from saying "no."

When I left the party and walked alone to my car, I saw him and
his eight friends walking about 50 feet ahead of me. I tried to
avoid them. I even moved off the sidewalk onto the street. But it
was too late. Roach hollered, "Hey Miz U-C-L-A!" (demonstrating his
intelligence by reading the letters on my sweatshirt) and hustled
to catch up with me. "Can I talk to you for a minute?" I answered,
"No I’m sorry, but I really have to get home and get some sleep."
He must have had a hearing problem because he asked, "Why not?" I
patiently reiterated my reasons and kept walking. "Oh, baby, just
for a minute?" By now he had hit every nerve. I coldly said, "You
already talked to me inside for 15 minutes."

I guess I was frustrating him because all of a sudden he got
short and nasty, "What you gonna lose by giving up a minute?" I
answered, "A minute of my sleep." He didn’t like that: "Oh, it’s
like that." "Yeah," I answered, walking briskly to my car. He
stopped following me and said, "Why you gotta act all stuck up?" I
thought to myself why is that when a woman has standards a man
doesn’t fill, he calls her arrogant? We all know Roach’s justified
insecurity was seeping through.

"You can call me whatever you want. I’m just trying to go home
and go to sleep." I put my hands in the air and gestured in a way
that said why don’t you just let me be. One of his friends said,
"You go girl! Tell him." Roach didn’t like being "fronted" in front
of his friends. "I didn’t call you conceited. I said you’re acting
conceited. You think you’re all that." I replied honestly, "I don’t
care what you think, but I’m going to go home."

By now, I was a few yards away from my car. I waved and said,
"Good night guys." Roach yelled, "Ah, shut up." I told him, "Now
that’s a good way to get a woman’s phone number." He kept talking.
I muttered some stuff back, but I knew I was playing with danger.
So I jumped in the car, locked the doors and started the engine.
The last thing I heard was "Don’t get smart."

I was fuming as I drove home thinking about Mark and Roach. They
both thought that because a woman was working the door, they could
talk their way in. Then when Mark realized that talk wasn’t
working, he thought he could intimidate me. If I were a guy,
neither Mark nor Roach would have even tried. They would have paid
their money or left.

In addition to disrespecting my position of temporary authority,
Roach did not respect my freedom of choice; the choice to tell his
nasty ass "no." Instead, he tried to break me down by harassing me
all the way to my car. When I didn’t break, he tried to humiliate
and scare me.

Both Mark and Roach were practicing homosociality, a concept I
learned in an English class on masculinity. Homosociality, in lay
person’s terms, basically means men bond by using women to show off
or demonstrate masculinity to each other. For example, Roach didn’t
really want my phone number so he could get to know me better. He
just needed to prove to his friends that he had game or that women
wanted him. When that failed, he had to prove that he had power by
disrespecting me. Same thing with Mark who needed to prove to his
friend that a woman wasn’t going to force him to pay anything he
didn’t want to pay. Remember, he didn’t leave until a man stepped
in.

Homosociality states that guys are more likely to act like asses
in a crowd. Every man knows logically that the vast majority of
women aren’t going to be impressed by games that consist of
pressure and degradation. When I walk by a crowd of brothers,
someone might scream, "Ooh baby, look at that ass." Now, that man
knows I’m not going to turn around and say, "Oh, you like my ass.
Really? Let’s talk."

So why does he do it? It’s a bonding experience with his
friends. It’s the most dangerous form of male bonding possible.
It’s the type of male bonding that leads to gang rapes. The kind of
bonding that caused a guy I rejected to throw a bottle at me at a
football game. The kind of bonding that makes a man scream "bitch"
when I don’t rush to his "Come here, baby," calls.

The feeling of powerlessness I felt on Friday enrages me. The
only reason I was able to "talk shit" back to Mark and Roach is
because I knew there were more than enough men there who would
protect me. It’s an unfair and cruel reality. An unarmed woman can
instantly become a victim in social settings such as these.

As a woman, I am constantly forced to bite my tongue to the
point where I think it’s going to bleed. When I’m walking through a
crowded club and a man "accidentally" touches my behind or breasts,
I want to slap the shit out of him, but I also don’t want to be
killed.

Yes, I could have one of my relatives or friends seek revenge on
people like Mark, Roach and club molesters, but that’s not the
answer. Violence breeds violence and these men are not worth the
blood.

So this helplessness transforms into internal rage that grows
with every encounter. I avoid going out. When I do, I guard my body
and, for the moment, I hate men like Mark and Roach for making me
feel this way. I write columns like this. I talk to my male friends
in order to remind me that Roach and Mark are the minority and that
most men are respectful.

Some of you may think I’m over-reacting, but I know I’m not. I’m
sick and tired of being treated like a pet because I’m a woman.
There is no justification for Mark and Roach’s behavior. They are
asses and deserve to be called out.

And although I know it’s extreme, I can’t help but wish I had a
penis and two testicles at times like Friday. So what can a sister
like me do? Although it crosses my mind, I would never buy a gun
because I’d probably shoot myself accidentally. So I’ve resolved to
take a self-defense class. Maybe that will make me feel more
empowered. Who knows, though, self-defense wouldn’t have helped
with Roach and his eight friends.

It’s actually really depressing to think about this. Despite all
of the strides I’ve made as a woman, and despite all of the
wonderful men in my life, I have to realize that some men will
always look at me as an object. Misogyny, homosociality and
violence against women will probably always be a part of my
reality. And there will always be an ass or two in the crowd.

Robinson is a fourth-year Afro-American studies student. Her
column appears on alternate Tuesdays.