I was not raped last night. And I’m not sure why. Here, let me fill you in on the details.
At approximately 10:30 p.m. last night in Los Angeles, I ordered a Lyft. It’s the holidays, and I’m semi broke right now, so I opted to do a ride share instead of a private car, since the ride share option is a little cheaper. When the male driver pulled up, I got into the back seat where another guy was already seated. Both men were in their twenties, I would guess, and both were dressed pretty casually. Driver Dude was playing cool music and both guys said hi to me as I climbed in and confirmed my drop off location—the Airport Marriott Hotel.
During the drive, Back Seat Dude scrolled his instagram and looked out his window. I think he also kinda passed out against the door. Driver Dude drove, and at one point, when he slowed down on an especially dark street, it was because an emergency vehicle needed to pass us.
Neither male raped me, though. Neither one made lewd nor even suggestive comments to me. Neither one touched me, nor did Back Seat Dude stretch his hand, leg, or dick across the Neutral Zone of the middle seat.
After everything I’ve been told lately about men and women in confined spaces and how men are just wired differently and can’t help it, I figured it was finally going to happen—my first raping (not to be confused with my first reaping, which includes less dick but equal amounts of fear, I’m assuming).
But, neither of those men grabbed me by the pussy. Can you believe that? In fact, it was a pretty chill ride. I said good night to them when the driver dropped me off, and both guys mumbled some sort of “have a nice night” pleasentry in return. Neither man got out of the car to follow me into the hotel and up to my room.
I’m so confused, because, according to the men in the government and in Hollywood who are being accused of sexual harassment, I should have had it coming. I mean, let’s even consider the most important element to the story—my outfit. That would be the court’s first concern anyway, so let’s address it! I admit I was wearing skinny jeans, which I remember specifically because I lamented bringing them for this trip when I woke up on the morning of my flight having started my period. I was bloated and cramping and skinny jeans were the last thing I wanted to squeeze myself into for a three-hour flight. And these were skinny, skinny jeans, too. Not the more relaxed fit ones I wish I had worn, so they were extra tight on me, accentuating my rear end, which, according to every boyfriend I’ve ever had, is one of my best features.
Now, I realize that my scoop-neck, keyhole blouse was hidden under my form-fitting, light weight jacket, but my hair and makeup were on point, and hello? Skinny jeans! What more do you people want?
So, I was definitely dressed provocatively enough. I mean, if tweens in baggy sweatpants get raped, my skinny jeans were a dead giveaway. And besides, it was late on a Saturday night, and I was obviously an out-of-towner, considering my drop off location was the AIRPORT MARRIOTT. How easy would it have been for Driver Dude to feign a car maintenance issue for ten minutes while he and Back Seat Dude overpowered me, ripped down my amazingly tight jeans and went to town? And then, BONUS! Because there’d be blood, (remember, I’m on my period, so, hello gushing river of doom), Driver Dude could probably peg me for “vehicle damage” and force me to pay for new leather seats or something. I mean, what jury would convict him? He was just doing his job when a petite, non-local chick, dressed like she was asking for it, willingly got into his car with another man who she didn’t know. I’m obviously the most irresponsible and ditsy girl there ever was. What smart woman in her right mind would accept that ride, instead of cancelling and paying the measly $2 cancellation fee? I mean, was I really willing to risk my vagina for $2? I was obviously asking for it.
So, I’m not really sure what happened. The driver never pulled over, the man in back seat never groped me, and neither one of them raped me. It was like they were exhibiting some sort of super-human self-control that stopped them from reacting with pure instinct. It was like they weren’t focused on sex and sex alone. Or at least not expecting it from me just because I dared to get in a car with them. But they shouldn’t have been able to resist, if that’s truly just the way men are wired.
Anyway, I’m obviously very upset, as everything I’ve ever been told about the way men are wired has now been completely disproven. And, since I’m a woman and unable to think for myself, an explanation would be great. Not that I needed to ask for one, as I’m sure you’ll be giving me one anyway.
Because, that’s the whole point, right? Even when I’m not asking for it, you’ll give it to me.
A concerned female, Liz
*Side note: If you’re too thick to recognize the sarcasm dripping from this post, I recommend this book, to help you better learn the art of it.