Sorry to repurpose 1 Corinthians 15:55, but I was raised in a revival tent [read cult], so the biblical reference makes sense.

Revving engine? Check. Squealing tires? Check. Some inbred shouting? Check. Eye roll. I know who’s coming for me. Well, not personally– who’d want that? But FFS, I don’t have time for this. Who, or possibly what, is supplying the genetic makeup of these oafs? Swamp gas? Slime mold? I believe even that comparison is an insult to swamp gases & slime molds.

Fast forward some 40 yrs. I eagerly anticipate my crone age. I love that word. It conjures images of a terrifying visage stitched in wrinkles, a fairytale, possibly supernatural figure. There isn’t a male equivalent of that word. Since I seem to be existing beyond statistical probability, I should at least achieve the status where rude lunkheads are too intimidated to lob slurs at me.

I was recently called upon to escort a neighbor child to his home from the combined elementary/middle school across the busy road nearby. His guardian who usually retrieved him was stuck on some errand & couldn’t make it back in time to pick him up. I was already in the school’s system for just such an emergency.

I pitied him because of this. No doubt his classmates would be teasing him the next day about the strange individual who picked him up from class. It couldn’t be helped. I couldn’t be less strange, & he was young enough to require an adult to get him home per the school’s policy.

Alas, the teasing wouldn’t even wait a day. As we passed the chainlink fence on the middle school side, a squeaky voice yelled “Hey Grandma– c’mere!” A trio of preteen chums chortled & egged him on. Crikey– not tween bullies! Whatever shall I do?

The kid with me began replying that I wasn’t his grandma, just his friend. Meanwhile I’m musing that the twerp who thinks ‘grandma’ is a gibe is only insulting his own intelligence. When my charge asked if we should go over there I said “No, they only want to taunt us. Keep walking.”

The pipsqueak heckler then yelled “Bitch!” The child in my care said “Um! He said a bad word.” I replied through my grin “Just ignore them. They’re bored & dull.”

My 6 yr old companion would no doubt encounter more of these situations in the coming years. He was on the spectrum, already with some scholastic & social challenges. He was going to need the skills to not fuel a pointless fire. If he were older I might elaborate: ‘People will want your attention, your time. You decide who deserves it. This won’t cease harassment, but it defuses jerks. Indifference is the ultimate riposte.’ Too bad he was too young for words like ‘riposte.’

For one such as me, the majority of yelled mockery is easily forgotten by sheer repetition. The same verbal abuses get trotted out again & again. Would a little imagination kill these goons? Their jeers would only incite a response in someone walking around spoiling for dimwitted sparring. I’m just not that angry. I can’t be bothered to care for some random stranger’s opinion. Yet, the guy who said “Look! It’s the poster child for abortion,” momentarily impressed me… until I deduced he’d likely stolen that line from someone more clever.

As much as I firmly stand by my motto of ‘do not engage,’ this is a story of me not practicing what I preach. Don’t judge me. Nobody’s perfect.

One day while wandering my neighborhood searching for a specific address, a man coming down the opposite side of the street was having a muttering rant with the empty sidewalk. He stopped when he spotted me & said “You’re part of the problem!” He pointed at me & commenced with the raving, which I cut off with “Who, me?” This brought a barrage of tangled conspiracies involving the government, psych wards, & my apparent collusion with both. I’d unleashed even more furious shouting & gesturing all because I felt a bit playful. I quickly moved on, making a mental note: Do not poke at the mentally unstable.

Other than having explosives tossed at me one July 4th, I’ve only been close to being assaulted on one occasion. Believe me when I say: I know I’ve been blessed with uncanny fortune. There’s countless Matthew Shepherds, Teena Brandons, any & all queer/nonbinary/trans casualties in our midst. The least I can do is tell a story.

I was peeved at myself for waking late. Class was starting shortly & I’d have to get by with only coffee & cigarettes for breakfast. A shower was out, even though I’d slept with product in my hair last night & it had sprouted into an unruly, alien lichen on my head. Oh well. I didn’t really care about my appearance as much as missing part of class. I was all about my education, high on learning fascinating stuff. I loved all my classes this quarter. Hence frustration at my sleeping in.

Rushing to the corner coffeeshop I swooped in & grabbed a strong cup. Upon exiting, while pausing to light a cig, a car was parked blocking the sidewalk, with 2 dudes hanging out beside it. One exclaimed to his bud “Get a load of this punk!” They both snickered at me, then the same guy said “Hey freak– I got something for you” & gestured to his crotch.

Already in a frazzled state, I forgot my mandate & slung back “Fuck off!” before I was even fully caffeinated. Then I turned the corner & loped up the street. I jaywalked across Olive Way to the sound of a revving engine & squealing tires. This is where we meet the intro to this story.

The car came roaring towards me as I cut down a side street because I was heading for the back entrance to SCC anyway. I was not unnerved by being followed; I was concerned I would miss vital notes from my first class. As I beelined across the parking lot, the car cut me off by pulling in front & stopping in my path. I didn’t register the (misogynistic) invectives that the driver yelled, but when he threw something at me I calmly stepped to the side & it lamely missed its target. On the ground, I now saw a hair brush.

I couldn’t contain the laugh that erupted from me. “Fair enough!” I said. This made his friend laugh as well. The joke was on that angry driver. He’d thrown the only thing at hand he didn’t mind tossing away. It just happened to be a serendipitous object– one I was happy to admit I could use.

It’s common knowledge, really. Someone who’s outwardly eccentric does not care what anyone has to say about them. I would think that is obvious. But then, I’m not clueless.