The breeze is blowing, the sun is shining, and I am cruising on my bike. I am in a good place mentally while taking the kids to or from school, and then it happens--people begin to HONK at me, knocking me out of my "happy zone" with the force of their car horns. Every day, at least once during the drive to or from school, someone HONKs at me. They HONK when I am waiting to cross the street, they HONK as they pass. Their HONKing reverberates inside my helmetted head while I am industriously minding my own business. At first I looked to see who was HONKing, but very rarely did I recognize anyone. More distressing than even the honking was the fact that the HONKs were increasing in frequency. . .HONKs, and HONKs, More and more and more HONKS! HONKS! HONKS!
In Texas, when I am out and about on foot, and someone honks and yells at me, usually I look away in order to avoid the potential lewdness that may accompany the horn and vocal comotion. If I am feeling particularly feisty, I might yell (in Spanish) "Animal!" like some sort of exotic ice princess. (When I was a very little girl I heard my beautiful mother do this once or twice, and I thought it was a very dignified way to ward off unwanted attention.) I have friends and family members--don't worry, I won't name you-- who do not hesitate to flip the proverbial bird, their longest digit alone extended towards the sky defiantly when strangers offend them in any way. I don't partake of this vulgar hand signage, (well, maybe once or twice as a hormonally challenged teenager) but the everyday honking was pushing me to the brink.
Every time someone else honked at me, I looked down and tried to mind my own business, but with each incident, my Texan sensibilities became more and more ruffled because in Texas it is rude to honk at a lady. (Honking would be more appropriate toward those soliciting illegal business while walking up the street--not a mum with kids on a bike.) I was on the verge of employing the bird when I mentioned all this honking and my annoyance to a friend. She kindly laughed at me and told me that it was a compliment here to honk at "hot mamas." I quickly re-evaluated the situation and took a little satisfaction in being honked at in hindsight. While Rachel explained, our other friends listened into our conversation with interest.
Then, even as my image of myself was being polished in my mind's eye, my other friends joined into the conversation, shattering my magic mental mirror. They had seen me around and now each began to confess that she had been honking in friendly recognition, not just one friend, but several of them; and not all of my friends were there. My friends mostly live and work around the community where I ride, and they have been friendly and kind toward me every time they see me, greeting me when we are face to face. Apparently, they also honk a little hello to me and the kids as they pass us in their cars because that is polite here. Maybe I am occasionaly honked at because of my "hot-mama-hood" (I want so badly to believe this is true), but as I evaluate the escalation of honking, I must admit that it has followed the rate of friend-making in my community.
In evaluating this near-disaster in my social life, I think I may finally have matured in some measurable way. Although I was very close to sporting my middle finger toward what I thought were rude honkers, better sense and self-control prevailed, at least this time. I guess I also need to publicly thank my friend Rachel for decoding (yet again) mysterious Aussie social customs and saving me from totally alienating every last friend that I have made in Brisbane. Maybe next time I am bewildered or annoyed, I will ask a friend for help in interpreting the situation before I near the brink social suicide in the form of public vulgarity.
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