sexism then and now

I was at work when Dr. C, who did both of my spine surgeries called. He had shown my MRI to another neurosurgeon, the ominous sounding “Director of Complex Spinal Surgery,” and now I have to go see him. I don’t want more spinal surgery, complex or not, so I was not in the best mood as I hammered out the grant due the next day. After work, I was standing in Walgreens pondering the floor soap and wishing they had less toxic options. I was thinking about the news of Cesar Chavez’ assaults on women and girls spreading across the Internet and press and remembering the bitterness with which my mother told me about how the male leadership of SDS treated the female members at Columbia in the late ‘60s. My mom had a lot of stories like that, about being a young organist and being chased around the organ by a predatory man, about the man she invited home who raped her and left her to have an illegal abortion. She had less blatant stories of sexism too, about how as a female journalist she was banished from the newsroom to the fashion page. As I was thinking, a giant man with a limp came down the aisle. As he brushed past me he said “excuse me gorgeous” and I felt the old fire begin to burn. When I was younger, my red hair was like a beacon for assholes and I constantly had men yelling things at me on the street and worse. Sometimes I would ignore them but sometimes when they would ignite my temper, I would yell back “you’ll never get a woman acting like that!” When I was still in junior high, a random man pinched me while I was pouring chow for feral cats in the vacant lot across the street from my house. I never told anyone about it, but for the next 30 years I never wore shorts. I got to the line and one of the two cashiers was occupied by a woman with a walker who was rambling on without making sense. The cashier was trying to be polite, trapped in place while the line grew. The woman left just as I got to the other cashier, a young black man. “There’s something wrong with that lady,” he said. I nodded. “She told me I should go to Harvard. I told her I went to college and she asked me why I was working here. I told her I had to make money. I tried having my own business but it was really hard. “ At that point, not wanting to be the person holding up the line myself I took my paid for items, wished him a good night and left.