Live misandry

Being a direct target of misandry is somehow more real than reading about it. Who would have thought…

I was just leaving my dojo when a female voice yells “Scuse me? Hello?” so I yank the brakes of my bicycle and look at her in friendly inquiry.

I: “Yes?”

A woman, more fifty than forty, a solid 2 for those interested in these details, pushes her bicycle towards me.

She: “Do you know obscure-female-name-Crescent? It’s got to be here somewhere…”

I: “I don’t, but my mobile does.”

With that I start Google Maps, type in the address which takes some 20 seconds because I first have a typo, but in the end I see that obscure-female-name-Crescent is perhaps a quarter mile away, just off the road I have to take.

I: “Ah, easy, that’s almost exactly my way. I can accompany you, if you want.”

She: “…”
A sceptical look, verging on the hostile.

I: <chuckle> “Right. It’s simple, see. Turn left there, straight on, cross a big road and next on the right.” I start pushing the pedals again.

She, noticing something: “… er … do you drive on the sidewalk?”

I: “No. Good luck”

A few months ago I wouldn’t have thought anything of it. But now I bask in the experience what it feels like to be a rape-suspect.

Luckily not for real.

At least she didn’t have her pepper spray with her.

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