If you know me, you know that I love to laugh and I'm rarely serious. Heck, my last post was about something that had me laughing during a time in my life where I find it difficult to make contact with my joyful side. I had an experience today, though, that did not make me crack a smile, not even once. However, it appears that other people found some humor in it. Maybe because they were uncomfortable, maybe because they actually found it funny, maybe because they've never really had to worry about this in their own lives and they didn't know what to think.
I talked to my mother on the phone this morning and she told me to keep my eye out for a surprise package that she over-nighted in the mail. I kind of gave her a hard time about it. We had missed the delivery yesterday and no one in the apartment knew who was supposed to sign for it. If we missed delivery again, someone was going to have to haul ass to the Bronx to pick it up. We do not go to the Bronx. Anyway, mom told me that she sent along my favorite candy and a card as a little pick-me-up to help with the stress I've been under. I thanked her, apologized for being a brat, and waited for my Sarris Jellybeans to arrive.
Around 11:15a there was a ring at the door, and I buzzed the courier in to my building. My roommate's dog went ballistic at the knock, and so I had to shout over him to talk to the delivery man. I mentioned my aggravation with the barking, and we made a little small talk. He told me not to let my roommate hear how annoyed I was with the dog, and I let slip that she was at work. The air of the conversation changed.
"Are you Callie?" He asked, checking the package. I confirmed and accepted my white envelope. Then, not missing a beat, he said my last name and asked if it was French. At that instant I remembered the last time this particular man had delivered a package to me.
That first time, he had also asked about my last name, and if it was my husband's name. Who asks that? The experience the first time had weirded me out and I even called my mom to tell her how skeeved I was. Living in NYC, there are a lot of little skeevie things that tend to happen and I don't really make a habit of filling my parents in on them, mostly because I don't want to wake up to them packing my life into a U-Haul and driving me home in parental terror. I've got mace, my friends and I drop-pin, it's not a big deal and you learn to be a little wiser, okay?
So, taken aback, I responded, "No, its German". Making no move to leave and continue his deliveries, he queried, "Oh, is your husband German?". Questions about my 'husband' once, odd. Questions about my 'husband' twice, and that's a cause for concern. This man knows that I am currently alone in my apartment, and he has asked for the second time if a man is ever around. Imagine how that would make you feel.
In a stammering idiotic I-don't-know-what, I said "Yeah he's German too. He's away on business right now."
Yeah I know I'm a moron. I'm slapping myself in the face now for even speaking those words. But I didn't know what to say or do and I was really feeling uncomfortable and they happened. His response? To reference his stylus and ask me for my phone number. When I started with the area code, he made a face, which stopped me in my tracks.
When has a FedEx courier ever asked you for your phone number? Especially after you've already identified yourself and signed for your package. So I called him out, and told him I'd never needed to provide that before. He chuckled and said, "Well your husband is away for work so I figured I'd give you a call." I laughed it off and made to close the door and he didn't push it. He did not need my phone number at all (which was confirmed by the depot's senior manager later tonight).
So to recap: this man- short, olive skinned, in his 50s, profiled me. He asked if I was alone, was there a man close to me, how could he contact me. Are you laughing? Because I couldn't.
There are some pretty absurd things that happen to me. I can chuckle at some pretty crappy experiences, but this one doesn't get included in that category. No witty quips ran through my head when I thought about it. What was on my mind? How scared I would be if he showed up at my apartment one night. Or in the next 10 minutes. How much I didn't want him to force his way into my apartment, or take me out of it, because I was alone and he could probably take me down. As a woman, I have to think that way. Because it happens and it happens a lot. I've watched enough SVU and programs on Oxygen to know that this man was acting like a predator.
I was actually so upset and worried that I went to Facebook and made a short post about what happened. I figured, hey, if something really does happen, they'll know where to start looking. I called my mom again. She, among others, urged me to call and make a complaint, which I did.
The way the system works, I literally was on the phone all day. From my first call at 11:36a to my last one received at 6:04p. I jumped through the company's hoops-- the first person I talked to didn't report it properly and connected me with the site in the Bronx, where I was informed the manager was 'out' and would call later. After a few hours, I had to call back to see what was going on. Customer service had no record of my complaint, so I had to say it again. I was then transferred. I had to say it again. We called the site manager, again. He was in a meeting, would call back in 10 minutes. Thirty minutes later I was back on with customer service, asking why he didn't call. When he finally got in touch, he informed me that they would "handle it internally" and my request that he no longer deliver to me "could be made, but that didn't mean anything would actually happen". I wasn't satisfied with that answer. This guy, who I had been totally creeped out by was going to know that I filed a complaint about him and he knows where I live and could potentially be at my door again. And I don't even know his name, in the case that this would go further. So it was back on the phone with customer service. Hours later, I finally was connected with the senior manager of the site who informed me that my request would be granted, which is the best I could hope for.
My whole day was caught up in this one event. I had to repeat the details over and over and wait around for hours just for verbal confirmation that he couldn't deliver to me any more. That doesn't erase the fact that he knows where I live, but it's something. Now could you imagine the process if something worse had happened? How many times would I have to share those details? With how many different people? And how terrifying it truly is that this is a reality for some. I didn't feel safe because of some probing and inappropriate questions. What if he'd gone farther?
Have you laughed yet?
Someone has.
My Facebook status received a lot of suggestions and observations from my friends. It was interesting to note, though, that humor was found in the situation by some of my male pals. Some who I consider to know me very well and personally, all who I have no moral issues with and quite like. I'm not mad at them, necessarily, but I am surprised that their initial reactions were light. Not one of the women who commented said anything in that vein. We know the reality, we've been taught that we are targets since we were little and we are reminded every day. You don't let it get you down, you stay smart about it, and that's how you move on with your life.
But...
... some people 'lol'.
So, to you who have all made it to the end of this lengthy post from my soap-box, what is the one thing you cannot make a joke about? Because one of your friends potentially being sexually violated and murdered made the cut.
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Preach.