The headspaces we inhabit differ slightly in tone and degree of sparkle, but our hearts are in complete alignment.
Allow me to set the stage: it’s dark, I’m sitting in our parked car. Bubba’s in our favorite kabob place (no lie, this place is for real), picking up our dinner. I’m unaware of anything around me, because I’m focused on my phone, checking my e-mail. And I hear a knock on the car window.
“Hello, ma'am, can I ask you a question?” It’s a young woman—somewhere between 20 and 30, depending on exactly how hard she’s living—bundled up in heavy layers, with her hoody pulled up over her head.
Now, you’d think given the extraordinary amounts of true crime content I consume—content in which unsuspecting women are significantly over-represented in the victim pool—I’d be a scooch more cautious about strangers approaching me in a dark parking lot.
NOPE! Apparently, Spazzie lives in a sparkly magical land where she could never, ever, possibly be the victim of a violent crime. I roll down the window.
“I’m a single mom, I have an 8-year-old boy, and I’m just trying to get a hotel for the night, can you please help?”
At this point, dear readers, you may be thinking “Fraud”; you may be thinking “Addict, ” and you’re justifiably skeptical. People in desperate situations — regardless of how they wound up in those situations — sometimes do desperate things. But all I'm thinking is “HELL YES I CAN HELP”! So, OF COURSE I roll down the window.
No, I didn’t check my surroundings, why would I do THAT? I live in a sparkly magical land where nothing bad EVER happens to perfectly unsuspecting, well-meaning people!
“I’m sorry, I don’t carry any cash. But my husband is in the restaurant; he carries cash.” And I open the door.
I open the door to our only car; our only car that has my keys (and Bubba’s), my wallet, my phone, AND both our work laptops in it. And it doesn’t occur to me — not for one bloody second — that this young woman might “aim to misbehave” (Thank you, Joss Whedon. We at SpazzieGirl.Com are big, big fans!!!).
So, I head into the restaurant, the young woman follows. In the bright restaurant light, I can see clearly she’s in bad shape. Bubba looks up, sees the young woman and me. All I say is “give me whatever cash you have in your wallet.” No explanation; no narration; no introduction; just “give me your money.”
Now Bubba’s a good person, and an amazing husband, so he gives me his cash, without comment, no additional explanation necessary. I promptly hand the cash to the young women, who hugs me and leaves. AS soon as she clears the restaurant door, I turn to launch into a massive rant about how President Clownshoes Asshat is going to make her life very, very much worse, then I notice the look on Bubba’s face. It’s the look of pure, absolute disbelief, astonishment, and (not a little) horror. His face says it all: What, the Actual, Fuck Woman???
Now, some of you know Bubba. He most definitely does NOT live in a sparkly magical land where men’s wives NEVER get murdered for opening doors before asking “Your man isn’t standing out of sight, holding a gun, just waiting for me to open this door so you can car jack me, right?” He lives in a world where that’s EXACTLY the sort of thing that happens — it’s called reality. Apparently, he pays MUCH closer attention to the true crime content I consume than I do. And he would appreciate it if Spazzie’s impulsivity were a bit more balanced by a greater sence of personal risk. All because he loves me.
More to follow. The next blog is going to be very, very ranty because I don’t give a fuck WHY or HOW my fellow human being finds herself in a Manassas shopping center parking lot at 6:00 pm, begging strangers for money. I only care that she IS in this situation! And don’t kid yourselves — no one begs strangers for money because it’s an easy way to make money. They do it because they have no other choice, or believe they have no other choice. And under President Clownshoes Asshat, this human’s life — and the lives of millions of other fellow humans — is going to get much, much worse.