Today I was that angry woman. Today, like many, I entered a space. A space that, as history has shown to me, has not been kind to my type. More specifically, the last week and a half. This space smells of oil and rubber. White, orange, blue and black are the standard colours. Old Folger's coffee stains a pot that sits in front of a dusty window, looking through to the manager's office. One with ancient pamphlets high up on a filing cabinet, papers thrown across the desk. I enter, and I am not happy. Not happy with the week I have had with spaces like this.
It is spring. Which means Colin and I's vehicles - car, truck, and dirt bikes need some work. Every time I enter an automotive shop, I enter ready to be abused. Not physically or verbally but prepared to have the money taken out from under me. A rebuttal or questions leaves me only with more questions. Am I being taken advantage of? I am sure I am but, how do I argue with the expert? He's got the unkempt hair and oil on his hands from the hard work, not me. I am wearing a toque and sunglasses, a purse over my shoulder and old mascara. What I am not is evident and this leaves me vulnerable.
So, I went in there today to try and not be taken advantage of. I was not kind, not patient. I was frustrated and blunt.
"How much will this cost, roughly?"
"How long with this likely take?"
"Please do not do work on my car that I have not approved."
"If I get my car back with work I have not approved, I will not pay for it."
"I've been getting the run around all week, and I am over it."
"You had my car all last week, and it sat here when I could have taken it home. There was no communication, and I'm not happy about it."
Yeah, he did not like this attack at 10 am on a Wednesday, which is fair. I would not either. He put his hands up and said, "You know what, I don't want to work on your car." Nothing had happened yet, and I was already ready for a fight. To him, I was already a problem. In many ways, I understand him entirely telling me to leave. I still stormed out. Livid.
But, to contradict myself, I am mad that he didn't get it. I would argue that he can walk into almost any space to ask for a service and not get ripped off. As a man, he is safer. As a woman, I am not.
So, I left. I was a stereotypical "angry woman". I'm sure he turned to the 20-year-old intern looking kid eavesdropping from the corner and called me some lovely names. I am not sorry. I have every right to be angry. Walking around as a woman means danger. Whether it may be rape, a mugging, or something as small as being ripped off at a car shop. So yeah, I'm fucking angry. Being a woman is not the same as being that man behind that automotive desk. So, why should he bother to understand why a flushed faced woman walks into his shop at 10 am asking him not to rip her off?