Shotgun

I didn’t know it was International Women’s Day until my husband said something in the car on the way to church. I thought it was kind of funny that we must have a day carved out to celebrate women. I also find it funny with Father’s Day and Mother’s Day. Don’t get me wrong, I love that we have holidays that allow for reflection. Yet, shouldn’t every day be Father’s, Mother’s, Grandparent’s, Women’s, Children’s, Step-mom’s, Step-dad’s, step-sibling’s, pet’s, Women’s, and Men’s day? Shouldn’t we just be thankful for everyone every day? I’m probably thinking too hard about it.

Any way. Today brought back a distant memory. Does that ever happen to you? You’re minding your own business; someone may say something or an event may bring up a random distant memory. Well this was mine.

In my senior year of high school, my on-and-off again boyfriend and I broke up officially. I was single, getting ready to go off to ASU the following August, I had a part-time job at Arby’s, and I had my own car. I lied; it wasn’t a car. It was a tank. A 1998 Ford Expedition, a hand-me-down from my dad. Senior year was glorious! I loved being 17 years old. I had a blast. I had half days every school day. My parents both trusted me because I was a pretty trustworthy kid. My biggest issue was that gas prices were going up over $2, I had to pay $100 of car insurance a month and $25 for unlimited texting. I had it good!

My bank was close to my house and there a cute guy, we’ll call him Tom, who was a teller there. Whenever I would go deposit my checks from Arby’s, he would typically be the one to help me. He was nice, we would have good conversation, he was smart, seemed driven, and a few years older than me. I don’t remember the logistics of who asked who or how we started hanging out. I met his friends and did a few things with them. He would come pick me up in his red double cab Silverado after work. We talked about his school, he helped me with some of my economics assignments, sometimes we would go get food after he got off at the bank. We never dated. Only hung out. He would hang out at my house every once in a while for a few hours (yes my parents were home). Honestly, I couldn’t tell you if we were just good friends or flirty friends or if he just stringing me along.  I didn’t know and I never asked. I wasn’t bugged by the lack of labels. I didn’t mind innocently tagging along with him to the different parties, events, or hangouts he invited me to. I was having fun! It was entertaining having adventures outside my normal high school friend group.

To preface this situation that happened: My mom always taught me confidence, a healthy amount of pride and dignity, and to always stick up for myself. I knew when it was appropriate to not take bad treatment from others and when to speak up for myself, I never had a problem with that. One Saturday night, Tom came around 8pm to pick me up. We were going to meet up with his friends to go to a hangar party out at the Chandler Airport. Now, I didn’t have anything too revealing or inappropriate on. I dressed to my mom’s approval; my favorite cowboy boots, jean shorts, and a t-shirt. As we’re walking towards his truck, Tom says to me that he picked up one of his friends along the way. That clued me in, after 2 months of hanging out, this is not a date, we were friends. His friend, who I had never met before, hoped out of the truck cab and said, “I called shot gun already! Bros in the front, hoes in the back!”. You guys, I stood there frozen like a little girl with nothing to say. I think I looked at Tom, WHO SAID NOTHING, as he turned and walked to the driver’s seat.

I remember in that moment thinking, I have two choices. One, I can walk back inside my house and be done this guy. If I did that, it would mean missing out on the party that I wanted to go to. Two, I could get in the BACK OF THE TRUCK, where I was just told to sit, and go to the party. If I picked option number two, I didn’t necessarily have to stay with Tom or his friend. I got in the truck. I went to the party. I remember not hanging out with Tom that night. I spent it with one of his really nice friends, we’ll call her Leah, and danced till he took me home.

I never texted or initiated hanging out with Tom after that night. I think he picked me up one more time after work from my house and we got milk shakes at Johnny Rockets. I was done. I was turned off by this guy. His lack of action spoke loudly of what he thought of me. He didn’t stick up for me. Even if we weren’t “friends” or “dating” and only acquaintances or hanging out, whatever it was that we were doing, he should have said something to his friend. It wasn’t about not sitting shot gun. That wasn’t the issue. The issue was that you let a person assert power and talk meanly to me. I’m not about that.

I learned a lesson from that situation. No matter how old, how sweet, how innocent, how good of a person you are, others may try to use their position over you. Even from such a small, dumb interaction with an immature 19-year-old kid, I’ve seen much worse use of power and position from working in academic and corporate sectors. In saying all of this, I hope you pause and reflect on what it means to build someone up. To simply be kind. What I mean is, don't only being an encourager on International Women’s Day. Meaning showing compassion to that women at your office you don’t get along with. Show a little empathy and help that new girl in the cubicle next to yours who is having a rough time adjusting to a new environment. Maybe you’ll make that woman’s day. Maybe you’ll spread some positivity. Maybe, just maybe, you shift your mindset, self-talk, and soul into being more compassionate and loving in a world that desperately needs some people who actually care about the person next to them.

Shalom,

Rachelle