On Friday afternoon I took a non-purposeful yet nimble stroll on the bike path. After a week full of meetings, appointments, errands, and a nagging pile of work, how quenching to bask in the crisp autumnal daylight while listening to an instructional French-language podcast about helpful phrases to know when dropping off clothes at the dry cleaners (or “le pressing,” a delightful cognate) and enjoying my penultimate freedom Friday before my new full-time gig picks up.
I walked about 3 miles to the border of the town of Lexington before turning around. As I neared the Arlington High School, groups of teenagers began to pass me as they retreated from their school day — some grim faces, others festive, others utterly void. The path runs adjacent to the high school’s well-groomed athletic field, and a large section of the perimeter chain-link fence has been pried open to allow unofficial access to the grounds from the path. During and after school hours, students congregate here to do teenagery things like flirt, aggrandize, smoke, and plot to destroy their young lives before they have even started.
Ahead of me, a gaggle of teenagers sat perched on the railings on both sides of the path. It was mostly boys, dressed and groomed in a cool, casual, sloppy style. They struck me as smart kids; none of them were strikingly attractive, or large, or ugly, just pleasant-looking kids with normal-sized skulls and the understated mannerisms of future collegians. Yet the way that they flanked the path was odd and disconcerting, and a self-conscious reflex from my own youth kicked in as I approached them. Silly, I chided myself. Why should they take notice of a thirty-something woman with no aberrant physical traits who is just one of many recreational users of the bike path, passing by them as she minds her own business?
Why? Because they’re teenagers, emboldened by the proximity of their cutthroat high school, fresh from a day filled with bloodthirsty banter and contemptuous posturing, and just plain bored.
As I walked through the gauntlet, I felt eyes on me. Oh yeah, they could sense my unease: the too-rapid gait, the eyes trained on the ground. Someone had to seize this opportunity to comment wittily on this awkward adult, to exploit her weak fortitude, to funnel their angst into cowardly cruelty. Someone had to say something.
“She’s listening to the Backstreet Boys,” one brazen youth announced (which I clearly heard because, in fact, I was not listening to the Backstreet Boys. I was still listening to instructional French language podcasts on low volume so I would not get a headache from the farcical French enunciations.)
Hot rage flooded through my body as I plowed ahead on the path. The Backstreet Boys! I listen to a wide range of music, from hardcore punk to classical to traditional Indian to experimental rock to pop industrial to post-trip hop to lo-fi indie to new wave to cabaret to breakcore to big band to cock rock to French hip-hop. In fact, just about the only two things that I don’t listen to are country & western and the Backstreet Boys.
The middle finger on my left hand sprung erect, although I could not muster the requisite gumption to turn around and brandish it in the direction of my harasser. Impassioned retorts involving four-letter words rose to my lips, but they could not attain the necessary clearance from the rational part of my brain to be vocalized. After all, it wasn’t my race, gender, appearance, religion, or family that was being slandered. I can’t call a minor “you little f**k” because he grossly underestimated my presumed musical taste.
Still, the Backstreet Boys! Did he seriously judge me to have such a moronic undeveloped taste in music, or did he just have a bully’s instinct to know that I’d be severely perturbed by such an unjust smear? As I walked through the town center, I took stock of myself in the reflections of the store fronts. Sure, I’m sort of frumpy in my Adidas track pants and fleece sweatshirt, but did I look that… lame?
(I know… listening to French podcasts doesn’t exactly make me cool.)
Why didn’t you simply give them dry cleaning instructions in french?
Listen to what you want when you want. It is the right of passage of a teenager to be critical of anything that might get them the slightest bit of attention, we all have done it. Be proud that as an adult comfortable in your own skin this remark did not even deserve acknowledgement. To many altercations large or small start this way and sometimes end badly.
Maybe if you find yourself in this situation again you could keep your head up. I think that keeping your head down, eyes trained on the side walk feels timid. Like other aspects of life, confidence goes a long way, and let’s face it- you had every right to be walking on that path when you were. Even if you weren’t feeling particularly confident, why let them think otherwise? It may not have stopped the comments, but maybe it would have. And at the very least, maybe you wouldn’t have felt as vulnerable to comments.
You know that thing about beauty, beholder and so on? Irony, too, apparently.
LOL@TM
Maybe next time you walk past the school, you could scratch some instant lottery tickets with the butt of a handgun while smoking an entire carton of Luckies.
Hold your head high and greet teenagers as equals. A simple hello will do. It is the right thing to do and completely disarms them. Imagine, someone who doesn’t automatically sneer at them!
Besides politics and religion (and maybe sports, in the right market), does any other topic of conversation elicit such emotional response as music? “Have you heard the latest *$^#&*%? I’m really digging it.” (This guy only listens to weird African tribal sounds. Pompous prick.) “What are you listening to? Oh, I like them too!” (Poser.) “What is that noise?!” (F*ck off!) “Their new stuff is just OK. I really prefer their old stuff, but only on vinyl.” (Snob.) “She’s listening to the Backstreet Boys.” (insert comment)
Perhaps you should learn the difference between a gauntlet and a gantlet before you begin your career in writing.
@TM… As if I could!
@John… I absolutely agree, because teenagers scare the hell out of me.
@Heidi… I never listen to people like you, but it makes me feel good to know that people like you exist.
@DW… ha!
@Andy… ha ha!
@Lisse…. That’s creepy.
@Aaron… totally agree. Actually, I was more offended to be accused of listening to the Backstreet Boys than I would have been if I was accused of being Republican.
@Dr. M…. Yes, in fact the only thing keeping me from starting my writing career is my vexing habit of confusing “gauntlet” and “gantlet.” It’s totally holding me back. How can I ever become a real writer if I don’t master “gauntlet / gantlet??!!??”
(See http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Running_the_gauntlet. My usage was perfectly consistent with current English usage of the term.)
Merideth, wikipedia is far from the definitive reference source for proper English usage; it’s an unedited web site on which anyone can enter whatever they wish.
If you like web sites for your research, try looking up gantlet at http://www.yourdictionary.com/gantlet
and gauntlet at http://www.yourdictionary.com/gauntlet
Those are Webster’s definitions. Note that ” running the gauntlet” is shown as an idiomatic use of the language, i.e., not standard English but a commoner’s distortion.
Again, if you intend to write for a living, please don’t use the idiomatic in place of proper English; it tends to brand you as inexperienced.
@Dr. M… Oooh… Webster’s definitions! That’ll teach me!
Wikipedia is a resource for English usage, meaning how the language is used. If I want use idioms in my writing, I’ll use idioms. You can continue to cling to your pointless affectation of usage and feel good about yourself for doing it. I have always agreed with Otto Jespersen, who said that when using the English language, “you are allowed to walk everywhere according to your fancy without having to fear a stern keeper enforcing rigorous regulations.”
Also, what gives you the impression that I “intend” to write for a living? I already write for a living. This web site is a hobby of mine, done for my own gratification. I really don’t want to spend time splitting hairs over arcane grammatical rules in the name of being “proper.”