I am not a twat

Friday 11 December 2008

(I usually do not type naughty words. For any word I would normally find impolite or inappropriate I will substitute an asterisk (*) for some vowel so it is recognisable but I can't be accused of using the word myself. This may sound silly-- for I really am, in some way, using the word. But I assure you that this is only in typing, and only when I am repeating what someone else has written or said-- for I NEVER speak such words myself.)

(Unfortunately the word in question has to be written out here because people will too easily confuse 'tw*t' for something I all-too-willingly call myself, as a lighthearted way of remaining humble-- hence my screen name. There's a sad and humiliating kind of irony here. Forgive me, dear Reader, for what I would otherwise NEVER type out.)

At lunch today I sat with the usual crowd-- Rita, Anna, Josie, my sister Jessy, Chris (Christine) and Paulette who changed her schedule halfway through the semester and ended up in fifth-period lunch with us. At least I'm not the only one in 11th year. We sat and talked and as we got up to go three boys were crossing the room with their lunch garbage like a juggernaut and one of them (possibly two) bumped into me. I stopped short, afraid I would knock someone over, you know, and one of them turned round and kind of glared at me. These were certainly not any boys I would ordinarily know, all three of them somewhat grungy with moused hair and oversized South Pole hoodies and dragging-on-the-floor jeans with wallet chains. For too long a moment they just stared at me and I stared back. I wasn't embarrassed but just did not expect to be so coldly received by anyone, least of all anyone male.

I can't consider myself a raving beauty, but I am not wholly unappealing. Today I had on my little navy-blue wool skirt and pale grey winterweight tights and my off-white Irish oiled-wool sweater, and in my good black maryjanes I was about 5'7", certainly not short enough to be overlooked, you know. The other girls, all still behind me for the moment, were dressed nicely too-- that's kind of our thing. If we're a clique, at least we're not closed to new members, and we're certainly a presentable-looking clique! I was not about to be intimidated by these boys and I wasn't going to be impolite, so since they were not saying anything I spoke first. 'Pardon me,' I said carefully.

The boys in the hoodies all sort of smirked at me at the same time. 'Oo,' one of the said, '"pardon me"!' They all laughed-- not respectfully.

'Superior-*ss b*tch,' one of them said then. 'Think your c*nny don't stink?'

My mouth fell open. I had no idea of what to expect. The other girls all gasped behind me.

One of the other ones made that annoyingly stupid hand gesture, three fingers down, two up, yanking the hand downwards as though to brush this all aside. 'That's right, twat. Sh*t,' he said, as though he would shuffle closer to me, 'I could get that good!'

And they all laughed. 'Pardon me!' they taunted me as they all left.

I stood there with my mouth dropt open, even as people passed me on their way out of the room. By the time Jessy and the others got round to look me in the face I had tears in my eyes. Jessy said nothing, the angel-- she just slipped an arm round me and escorted me out. 'My God!' Chris said then. 'What's THEIR problem?'

'Shhh,' Jessy said, soothing me before the words came. 'Come on, sweetheart....'

I moved, stiffly, till my face cooled and my tears dried. All I could think was, what on earth had I ever done to deserve that? But I knew the answer. I had done nothing.

It is sad that here in America, people like this exist so frequently that the rest of us are sort of forced to accept them. They impose on us with their foul language and rude manners and apathy about other people's needs and feelings, and in the interests of 'political correctness' we are expected to 'respect' them as though they are just another equally-valid 'lifestyle choice'. Well (and this may be a terrible thing to say round Christmastime), pardon me, but I don't have to accept that. Those rude boys are not a 'lifestyle choice', they are only ignorant and arrogant, and I don't respect them. And this may sound terribly conceited of me, but I don't CARE if they feel so inferior to me that they have a need to put me down to make themselves feel better. As far as I'm concerned I AM better than they are. I am smarter, better behaved, more respectful of others, loving towards everyone, even people I scarcely even know, and-- hear me well, rude boys --A LOT BETTER DRESSED! If that makes them feel they have to put me down, that's entirely their problem. I've had no hand in any of what they think or feel or do, or anything so wholly unconnected with them.

I am sure I am just blithely naive about all of this. Coming from an all-girls' school in England I would never have had any reason at all to expect this kind of treatment. Any guy we ran into at HOH was simply thrilled, even honoured, to be among us nice girls, and he would treat all of us, even the lowliest or poorest, like the ladies we were taught to believe we were. And maybe it is annoying to other people that I have brought my English ways here to rural eastern Virginia, where the average boy's idea of a 'big city' is Virginia Beach and half the local girls get pregnant by the time they're 21. In my skirts and tights and with my practised poise and good grammar those boys probably assume I am trying to make myself above them-- but it's simply the only way I know by now, and anyway I've been raised to believe it was a good way to be. Call me naive-- but I really do not see why I should be any ruder and uglier than I appear on the average day. I've always thought it's a form of respect for other people to dress myself well and carry myself well and express myself well. My God! --I very nearly called that kid 'Sir' when I said 'Pardon me'!

And is it so wrong for me to expect that, whilst I am 'respecting' their 'lifestyle choices', they respect mine? What is it about American culture that only the ignorant and rude have a right to be respected and accepted? Had I said something to them, like 'You inferior-*ass trash!' how would it have turned out? This is just hypocrisy-- oh, I can't go there now!

The other thing that's got me completely stewed-up about the whole thing is what he referred to be as. He did not address me as any kind of person, but as a body part-- THAT body part, as though my whole identity and value to him is summed up in THAT one, the only reason he has to pay attention to any girl. To him I am no lady-- there is no such thing. I am only another 'twat' for him to 'get' (and I assume he means 'well' and not 'good' for to him I could never be 'good' at anything except maybe giving it to him-- oh, I won't go there either!).

I shudder to think any more than that about it. What would have followed if this had not been at school, or if I had been alone without my friends? Would I have kept myself, or would he have 'got' me (excuse me, 'got' THAT body part)? What could any other girl have expected? And the really scary thing to me is, what would any other girl have accepted? Do these girls here-- not our 'clique', of course, but the rest-- actually tolerate being addressed like that?

I was also stunned to hear Paulette mention their names-- as it turns out she's known them most of her school life. And no, they were not always like that. (And no, before I go on, it was not a racial issue. One of them is called Pedro and they all appeared White to me.) Most importantly, no, not all the girls like them, and most try hard to avoid them. According to Paulette they are mostly in remedial classes, obviously because of their apathy, and none of us are so we never have anything to do with them. Except at lunch. And in the corridors. And after school....

I have prayed it once and will pray it again, that I never have to have anything to do with them again. Please, God, let it be so. Protect and save me. Forgive those who do wrong, even me. And help me to not judge. Amen.

Love, Janine. The twat.

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