On Women and Saftey
Up until last month, I worked at *local video rental store*, in what’s known locally as a “ghetto”, though it wasn’t really one - just a run-down, poor area, where lots of our customers were black, Latino/a, and rural white folks. I always closed, which meant that I was there til midnight or 1am
Sam worried for my safety all the time, for which I appreciated his concern, but I got increasingly annoyed that every day I worked, he would fret about my car being broken into or stolen, or my being assaulted/kidnapped/raped in the parking lot. Every day he would say something about it, and say, half serious, half in jest, that he would come escort me home.
This despite the fact that I repeatedly told him I felt quite safe at work - I knew the security guard assigned to the area, a short, middle-aged, fast talking black woman who was possibly the sweetest person I ever met, and who checked in with all the staff (most of us were in our early 20s) frequently.
I also trusted all my coworkers - we were all friends and we all watched out for each other. I frequently drove some of the guys home who only had skateboards or whose family had only one car, so they had to wait for their mom. My car is a piece of shit 2000 Saturn anyway, damaged by an accident that I didn’t fix. I hated that he would go on and on that I was in danger and my car was in danger, when I knew I was safe.
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