people who feel comfortable pooping anywhere other than their house are not to be trifled with
Fun story. Today I got pulled over on my bike by an LAPD officer. I assumed it was because he saw my headphone, but what he actually saw was my ankle length skirt, a skirt I have successfully biked in numerous times. I asked him if I was in violation of any laws and he admitted I was not, but said that he was authorized to cite bikers for any hazardous behaviors. According to him, my skirt could get caught in the wheels of the bike, creating a hazard for myself and others. I asked him if he was also citing men who longboard in flip flops, because I’ve seen some create crashes when the toe of their shoe hits the sidewalk. He said he was not; the incidents I had seen were outliers, those men know how to control themselves. I, in my skirt, apparently do not. So asked him if, for future reference, a shorter skirt would be acceptable. Guess what? NOPE. His answer, I shit you not, was that women biking in shorter skirts can often serve as a distraction for young men biking and therefore cause accidents. I CANT BIKE IN A SHORT SKIRT BECAUSE OF SOME COLLEGE GUYS LIBIDO BUT I CANT BIKE IN A LONG SKIRT BECAUSE IM THE ONE WHO CANT CONTROL MYSELF? I yelled something like that and then said that if he was going to cite me I would like to be taken to the station so I could speak with one of his superiors/a female cop. He got really nervous and said “Sorry for your time, have a nice day.” I biked away in my skirt.
I can’t even comment on this right now. I have never encountered such blatant sexism in my entire life. Don’t you dare tell me that we’ve achieved gender equality.
I know I’ve told this story before, but my abusive ex refused to let me take birth control. I was on the pill until he found them in my purse.
I went to the Student Health Center—they were completely unhelpful, choosing to lecture me about the importance of safe sex (recommending condoms) instead of actually listening to my problem.
Then I went to Planned Parenthood. The Nurse Practitioner took one look at my fading bruises and stopped the exam. She called in the doctor. The doctor came in and simply asked me: “Are you ready to leave him?” When I denied that I was being abused, she didn’t argue with me. She just asked me what I needed. I said I need a birth control method that my boyfriend couldn’t detect. She recommended a few options and we decided on Depo.
When I told her that my boyfriend read my emails and listened to my phone messages and was known to follow me, she suggested to do the Depo injections at off hours when the clinic was normally closed. She made a note in my chart and instructed the front desk never to leave messages for me—instead, she programmed her personal cell phone number into my phone under the name “Nora”. She told me she would call me to schedule my appointments; she wouldn’t leave a message, but I should call her back when I was able to.
And that was it. No judgment. No lecture. She walked me to the door and told me to call her day or night if I needed anything. That she lived 5 blocks from campus and would come get me. That I wasn’t alone. That she just wanted me to be safe.
I never called her to come to my rescue. But I have no doubt that she would have come if I had called. She kept me on Depo for a year, giving me those monthly injections in secret, helping me prevent a desperately unwanted pregnancy.
I cannot thank Planned Parenthood enough for the work they do.”