harassment

Day one

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After finding out that my friends weren’t joining me I had two choices, one was to completely shut down (which quite frankly I was leaning towards) or grasping the ring of opportunity and riding away on a unicorn. Well, I chose the unicorn of course because why wouldn’t I?

As tired as I was, and really only having a 2 hour nap on the plane doesn’t equate to a full night of rest, I decided it was time for a shower, some food and coffee, and to hit the town.

I had the opportunity to eat at the hotel but what I really wanted was a little cafe that was quite and not filled with other tourists. As I walked with no destination in mind I came across T.J. Coffee Cafe. Well hello lovely! I had to stop since it was fate given the name.

Inside I met Theresa and James, the lovely proprietors who made me a perfect Irish Breakfast (mini), sans beans because I’m just not about beans for breakfast. Call me silly, it’s cool. Theresa was, what I have come to reference as the consummate Irish person. Open, gracious, funny, and just a genuinely nice person, After telling her my story, she asked if I was going to be in Dublin, .When I told her I was headed to the Ennis area, she was sad because she wanted to invite me to their house for Christmas. My first thought was shock. I mean, who does that? My next thought had my frozen heart melting and growing three times its size.

This, I would come to find out, is Ireland.

After my meal I jumped on the Loise (tram) and headed over to the Irish Heritage Museum. Coming from Chicago where our museums are massive, I expected something along the same lines. Instead I found this lovely quaint little museum with extraordinary treasures that rival any others of the same time period. The fact that some of the caches are still being found (last one found was in 2016) with lovely and delicate gold work from anywhere from the 6th to 8th century…mind blown.

After walking around and visiting a few shops, I jumped the tram again and headed back to the hotel. Once in my room I still felt a bit out of sorts and to be honest a bit gut punched, and I decided it was time for some food.

There was a pub that came recommended by a few people and I had a craving for fish and chips and a G&T.

I walked in and sat down and then it happened. The it that I had been avoiding for weeks. Over the soundsystem Wham’s Last Christmas started playing, I knew that I was taking my life into my own hands by coming to this part of the world, but I was really hoping that I could hold out for the 4 days before Christmas. Nope! Here, within my first 24 hours I get sent to Whamhalla. Le Sigh!

If you’re lost, please look up Whamageddon.

At least my G&T was delicious and made with Dingle Gin. One of the things I would come to love is the little bottles of soda that would come with your glass of alcohol if you bought a drink as a mix. While one may think it’s wasteful to have all those little bottles (glass recycling is a thing) I like the ability to decide just how much mixer I want in my glass

Of course I went with the Fish and Chips for my first meal (the chips are hiding under the fish) and it was good.

After dinner and still not ready to go back to my room, I decided to walk off my meal and ended up at a tattoo shop. No, I didn’t get a tattoo…I just made an appointment to get a tattoo for when I get back to Dublin.

After that, well it was time to call it a day. I decided to have a nightcap in the hotel bar and there I met and man whose name I promptly forgot, as I’m wont to do. This man was drunk beyond drunk, what I’ve heard referred to as pissed, and because I’m weird I gravitated towards him. He told me lots of stories. Told me about growing up in Belfast and having to kill people. Told me about spending time in prison before going to New York. Told me of the IRA in New York. Told me again about his time in prison but this was about a guy who wanted to perform fellatio on him due to the size of his penis. Queue eye roll. Next thing I know he’s offering to toss my salad and now it’s time for me to go.

Deciding I needed a bit of nicotine I excused myself and headed outside. He, of course, followed me, and demanded my room number. Oh man, he picked the wrong American on the wrong day.

I politely declined the requested information and he persisted, getting more and more agitated. The hotel staff came out looking concerned and I gave them the thumbs up letting them know I was fine because honestly I just wanted to see where this was going and because he was so drunk a strong wind could have knocked him over. He became more and more insistent but never touched me so he was allowed to stay. I didn’t find him to be dangerous just belligerently drunk. My favorite part of the conversation was this.

Him: Are you scared?

Me: Are you 5?

Of course all good things must come to an end and it was definitely time to end this. After him asking me if I was turning him down because I was a lesbian for the 7th time, I had pretty much had enough. I told him I wasn’t getting naked with him, I didn’t care how big it was or what he wanted to do to various parts of my body, and that I preferred potential partners to be sober enough to remember the exchange and that I quite frankly had had a shit day and I really didn’t want to deal with his bullshit. When he asked me AGAIN if I was a lesbian, well that’s when my claws came out and I got loud and very forceful as I told him he needed to walk the F away from me as he didn’t know who he was dealing with.

Side note….I really can be intimidating when needed and at that point it was very needed.

He blinked at me and I stepped into his personal space putting us chest to chest and nose to nose and simply said:

Do you really think I couldn’t take you? I don’t know who you are or where you’ve been but I can tell you that you, my drunken friend, don’t stand a chance of walking away unscathed and trust me when I say that attacking a woman traveler over the holidays probably isn’t a good thing, regardless of the fact that you will be quite bloody and bruised and probably a bit embarrassed at how easy it will be for me to wipe the walk with your face. I will press this until the end and will walk away while you will not.

Needless to say, he backed down. Score one for the badass bitch with zero fear.

The manager of the hotel came over to apologize to me and I tried not to laugh at him. I told him that I was fine and in no danger and that I had dealt with his kind a time or two. He again apologize and said they had a duty to keep me safe and I told him I was safe enough. While drink may make people a false kind of brave, it also slows their reflexes and makes it easier to take down when necessary. He laughed. I laughed. It was all good.

Now, it was time for bed. I made sure he was not on my lift and I watched myself on the way to my room, but I was more than ready for my bed,

Tomorrow, I leave Dublin in a rental car.

Driver by any other name….

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This one is for the men…or maybe the ladies…aww, hell its for everyone.

For starters I’m going to start off by saying that as I started to write this, I had just experienced my third sexual harassment moment of the day. I don’t know if I should laugh or cry at the fact that each instance was from a different category of harassment. It’s almost as if the universe was saying “hey, want to know what you should write about next?” It’s been a few days and I’ve calmed down but I still feel this all needs to be said.

Some days on the road are better than others. I generally try to keep this blog positive but I’m about to lay down a bit of truth about life on the road as a woman trucker, but in all actuality it’s really just about life as a woman regardless of where you are or what you do and it’s a bit of a rant and just needing to get all of this off my chest.

I’ll start you out easy with whistles and cat calls.

Whistling or cat calling aren’t a way to tell a woman you find them good looking. In all honesty, we (and I’m speaking for the majority of women I know) don’t find it flattering when you whistle at us or yell out to us. I for one will always respond with a one fingered salute at a minimum or I will gladly walk over and give you a piece of my mind while most likely shredding any dignity you might have. I hope for your sake it’s the former and not the latter because as I’ve been told I can be right intimidating when pushed. Today it was the one finger salute and a yell out of “F Off”.

For the most part, when you whistle at or yell things at a woman it shows you have no self control. It also tells us you don’t really respect us. If you have no self control and no respect, why in the hell should we give you the time of day? If you get upset at a woman not genuflecting at your feet after you yell out something trite like “Damn look at that hot ass” or “Girl you fine” then it’s probably not the woman as much as it is your method of delivery. Ask any woman in your life how they feel about being yelled at. Hell, ask any woman in your life what it’s like to be a woman and the crap they’ve had to go through their entire life and you might understand.

Next, your hands. These should never be placed upon another person or any of their possessions (especially the clothes covering their bodies) without their permission. That goes for men, women, and children. There is no grey area here and no exception. If you want to see a person’s tattoo that is partially covered by a piece of clothing, ask them. They will most likely show you since most people are proud of their ink. What you should never do is move someone’s clothing to look at their ink without their consent. I’m sorry, if I feel someone touching me (as I did today) without my knowledge or permission I will turn into a honey badger, and honey badger don’t care.

I will probably (again as I did today) respond with violence. A slap at minimum, a full beat down if I’m really in a foul mood. The man who decided to grab at the back of my shirt to get a closer look at my tattoo probably wasn’t expecting to end up with a stinging face and a stumble from a shove but then again I wasn’t expecting to be pawed at or touched without my consent so we both got something we didn’t want or expect.

His stunned look and stammering excuse of “I just wanted to look at your tattoo” got a very loud response of “Don’t you ever put your hands on another person with out asking asshole. If you want to see my ink, ask. You’re lucky you’re still breathing.”

The stunned silence in the truck stop was impressive and more than one person moved out of my way as I stormed out after paying for my purchases. No one came to my defense. No one came to his defense. I think everyone was in shock except for me. I was seething with a blind rage.

Lastly, and this was kind of my last straw. If you don’t know a woman’s name the acceptable way to address them is Ms/Miss or even a ma’am. Calling a woman Darling, Gorgeous, Sexy, or any other derogatory term is well, derogatory. I can ignore most things, I just choose not to. When I’m called any of those adjective instead of a proper greeting that place emphasis on my looks, well then I feel like an object not a person. I can either choose to ignore it or say something about it. Those of you who know me will know I will usually take the former rather than the latter any day. When this happens in my current business, I really take offense to it.

That is why the following conversation happened.

Dockworker: Hey Gorgeous, you can back into door 19

Me: Driver

Dockworker: I’m sorry?

Me: You can call me Driver if you don’t know my name. If you don’t want to call me driver you can call me Miss or Ma’am or you can ask my name which is Tj by the way. I don’t respond to gorgeous.

Dockworker: (laughs nervously) Uh, I wasn’t…

Me: Trying to be sexist? Well you failed.

With that I started my truck to move it to door 19. After I was unloaded the same dockworker came out to give me my paperwork.

Dockworker: Here’s you paperwork gor…um driver.

Me:

After a moment of doing the above I wished him a good rest of his evening and left.

Here’s the deal with all of that. When I’m picking up, driving, or delivering I’m essentially at work. I get that I don’t dress, act, or look like other drivers on the road. All of that is irrelevant in my eyes. I’m still at work. Yes I know I’m an anomaly. Yes I know that some women may be flattered by this kind of attention. I am not.

I had a conversation with another driver about this and asked how he would feel if he had a dockworker talk to him like that. His immediate response was to say if it was by a male dockworker the would be offended because he’s not gay.

I’ve given this a lot of thought over the last couple of days and realized that the reaction is kinda the same. He would be offended because he’s not gay and doesn’t want the attention of a man that way. I’m offended because I also don’t want the attention of a man that way regardless of sexual orientation. Is it such a hard concept to wrap your head around?

Now, don’t get me wrong. I still feel safe on the road and I’ve yet to really feel in danger. I’ve heard of many women drivers who have all sorts of weapons and deterrents just in case. Me, I’ve just never been the type to feel I need a weapon to feel safe.

To quote Ani DiFranco, “Every tool is a weapon if you hold it right.” My weapon is my mind and my determination and those are really the only weapons that matter to me.

I’ve left Calgary behind. I didn’t get to do what I wanted due to getting a bit of a tummy bug. Maybe this made me a bit more sharp when dealing with people.

Let me say that being sick in a truck sucks. It doesn’t matter what kind of sickness it is, it all sucks when you’re in a truck.

After picking up a load of apples again from Washington, I’m heading down to Alabama. I have a lot of time on this run so I’m taking it easy, having short days, and conserving my energy. I’m ready for my next break which will be in Denver at the end of the month to hang with my daughter for her birthday. I’m looking forward to getting out of this truck for a couple of days and do normal things. Lately I’ve been feeling like Stabby McKnife.

Thanks for reading my rant. I’d love to hear your thoughts on the matter.