The question of the day remains: May I touch you?

by Jenni Prokopy, the Editrix in Super Venting mode

I've written about this before. There's a very simple question people should ask before they touch you in any way: "May I touch you?" It's that easy. In my case, the answer usually is no. (Of course, we make allowances for family and love interests and such.)

Unfortunately, some people just don't get it. And for those of us who seem to have a "please, go ahead and grope me awkwardly" sign on our backs, we need another reminder of how to respond when unwanted touch happens.

Why I'm writing about this today

Last night I went to the gym after holing up in my warm condo for five days. Yes, I should have worked out even with the bad weather, but when it's 15 below, it's hard to get motivated. But yesterday I layered on tons of clothes and braved the weather to get to Galter Life Center, the gym I love.

I was feeling pretty psyched to be working out. As I started my warmup stretching routine, a couple older guys (one looked to be in his 40s, the other in his 60s) started talking next to me, and tried to involve me in what I'm sure they thought was witty banter. (The older guy actually tried to explain to me the value of taking time to enjoy the fleeting beauty of a sunset. And asked me if I enjoyed poetry. Oh jeez.)

Body language is not enough!

My body language should have told them to bug off, but they were oblivious. They both offered their names, and I muttered, "nice to meet you" as I contorted myself into my most challenging stretch - a combo push-up/back arch that flexes my lowest vertebrae. The older of the two men took this most challenging moment to firmly grip my shoulder and ask my name. I almost fell over from the jostling motion - and the shock.

But I maintained my pose, glancing up to give him a withering look. Apparently that wasn't enough; since I didn't offer up my name, he tapped me on the head to get my attention and request it again.

I flopped on my stomach in disgust and frustration. I looked up at the #%$! and said, "Excuse me, but you should never touch someone while they are stretching or exercising. I have arthritis and that pose is very difficult for me, and you could have knocked me down and injured me." (I know, I don't technically have arthritis - I have fibromyalgia - but when dealing with total morons, sometimes you have to speak in shorthand, and what geezer* doesn't understand arthritis?)

* I'm using geezer only to refer to this guy, who clearly deserves to be made fun of. I love older people and respect them as a rule, generally referring to them as gentlemen or ladies, except for this jerk. He's a geezer. And a creep. Can you tell I'm extremely irritated?!

Not only did he NOT apologize, but this guy had the gall to say to me, "I'm a luddite. Do you know what a luddite is?" I responded, "Sure, I know what a luddite is." "Well," he said, "I believe we can overcome illness with food and exercise." I seethed. "I'm doing my best, " I huffily responded, gathered my water bottle and sweatshirt, and walked away. The other guy chuckled and said, "Oh great, now she's freaked out - you really scared her off."

(A note: when re-telling this to hubbie Steve later in the evening, he recommended that I slap the hand of anyone who touches me, especially in a safe environment like the gym where all the trainers know me. I think he may have something there.)

I'm not freaked out, you idiot.

I was positively furious. First, at the egos of these jerks, who presume to think I'm just loving their awesome conversation about sunsets and poetry and rainbows or whatever. Second, at their blatant disregard for my personal space and my body. Which is mine. My body. Don't touch. Third, at the older dude's attitude that I'm clearly not working hard enough in the areas of food and exercise, or I would have overcome my obvious shortcomings.

But the thing I was most mad about: my lackluster response. When the guy gripped my shoulder, I wish I would have slapped his hand away and shouted "get your hands off me!" When he implied that I wasn't doing enough to heal myself, I wish I would have replied: "tell it to my rheumatologist!" or better yet, "mind your own business you tool!" When the other guy announced that I was freaked out, I wish I would have turned around and said, "I'm not freaked out, you idiot. I'm offended at your massive egos, your complete ignorance of boundaries, and your presumption that I give a crap about what you're saying. And your hair is awful."

Instead, I walked over to one of my favorite trainers and we laughed about how some of the gym patrons are just bizarre. And I paused to write a note to myself to get out some of my negative energy so I could continue my healthy workout and not let it ruin my evening.

What to do next time?

Oh, if I see the older guy (or, if I'm lucky, both guys) I will have some witty banter for those morons. Because I'm prepared for their behavior. And I guess that's what I have to remember - there are morons everywhere, ready to challenge us, ready to violate our space and question our very state of being. (Case in point: the naysayer I encountered last summer.)

We can't let people do that to us; it degrades our sense of self. I don't want to walk away from those people feeling smaller. I want to walk away knowing that I protected myself, physically and emotionally, and that maybe they won't be repeat offenders. At the very least, I want to speak my mind. Especially in a safe place where I know there are other people on my side.

So, I'm going to keep practicing my witty retorts. Hope you're doing the same - if you'd like to send me some ideas, shoot me an email.

Consentual hugs to all my fellow Babes, Editrix Jenni

Posted: 2/6/2007 in Venting | Also posted in: Relationships

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By Date:

The question of the day remains: May I touch you?

Why I'm writing about this today

Body language is not enough!

I'm not freaked out, you idiot.

What to do next time?