KHITBASH

Something seriously twisted about going through a moderately lazy weekend; a bit of reading, a generous dollop of computer time, some socializing; only to begin the next weekly stretch of work feeling like slipping into a nice relaxing coma for a few days would be in order. My current preference would be enter a nice clean state of suspended animation at a women's school of massage which only proves how wrung out I actually feel.

But Lanius, you I hear you exclaim, how could you say that? Doesn't every red-blooded heterosexual male have fantasies of being left at the delicate hands of a multitude of women looking to do decadent things to his person?

Probably a good majority of guys do entertain such notions. I'm just not one of them, I'm not stupid. I don't doubt that the women would indulge themselves in doing things to a hapless, helpless male in their power. I simply doubt that most of what they'd find entertaining would coincide with that of the poor sap depending on their tender mercies. I keep the wisdom of Mr. Kipling firmly in mind.

And now I've rambled off onto a tangent and possibly given the impression I am a raving misogynistic bastard. I'm out of it indeed. I think I'll continue with the trend for a bit longer today. I blame it all on impulsively over-dosing on those vile little energy drinks found in blue and silver cans emblazoned with two crimson bovine seeking to gore each other or at least receive a concussion.

Some years ago I had an encounter with someone who was convinced I was a dyed-in-the-wool, woman hating agent of the insidious patriarchy. College is a weird little microcosm. Of course at the time I was unaware of some of the more garish of the rumors floating around campus about me. It might have colored this woman's attitude toward me. Then again, she might have been rabid chapped-ass bitch. In either case, she earned herself a place in my regard suitable for exploring picturesque lakes fitted with a burlap sack, chains, and a hefty weight of concrete blocks.

The entire episode was quite brief though it has painted itself in my memory as a glaring example of being a zealot of ideology over being a civilized adult. It started with what I consider to be an entirely benign act on my part. We were approaching the entrance to one of the campus buildings. I was several paces ahead of her and since the door would close just a bit before she reached it, I paused, holding it open. It seemed the polite thing to do.

You would think I just raped her grandmother with a drill press and then sold her nieces into slavery. She erupted into a scathing diatribe right there on the spot. She didn't need me to hold the door open for her; she was capable of doing that on her own. How dare I assume she needed a man to do things for her. How dare I think she needed special treatment. Didn't I see that my self-entitled actions were keeping women power-less, exploited, and undervalued by the aggressive male-centric power structure?

Excuse me? I was simply being a gentleman. Gender was immaterial to the action; I would and have held the door for men as well as women; young or old, sound or infirm. It's something called being nice. To say I was bewildered and appalled by the explosion of bitter venom in response would be an understatement. Fortunately my default setting in the event of unexpected attack is to launch my own attack. I'm not required to be nice. It was only a(n ill advised) choice on my part. May your UTI's be persistently virulent and your ovaries riddled with cancer. I shut the door in her face. Further, in all subsequent encounters, I went out of my way to make sure she always had a door to open for herself and basically withheld all the petty courtesies normally offered in polite society. It was a small campus, I got a lot of practice.

I recall she attempted to scourge my aberrant soul with her "reasoned arguments" at least a couple times after the initial doorway incident, but I'd never respond. In fact, I don't think I ever addressed her in any fashion in the years we were in close proximity.

I'm confident that this only reinforced her hyperfeminist agenda without the least comprehension that she became a non-entity to me out of specific defect of character on her part rather than virtue of gender. I hesitate to believe that such an offensive persecution complex would have served her well in later life. That's alright, she's proven she's amply able to slam her own doors.

I'm well aware that manners and courtesy are increasingly looked upon as passé and superfluous to today's society, but the concept embraced by a few that such behaviors are malicious tools in service of some nefarious plot against some nobly oppressed minority completely escapes the scope of rationality.