Just Another Saturday

I’ve been working on a post that I was going to publish today, but I still can’t make it sound the way I want it to.  So I thought I’d tell a story from Saturday.

There were some new protesters, and some protesters I hadn’t seen before.  One of them was a tall man in a big leather coat, probably in his early 50’s. I’ll call him Paul.  He was intent on preaching to the clients.     The other one in this story was younger, dark haired, and his movements were somewhat uneven, not smooth.  Later, somebody told me he had cerebral palsy.  I’ll call him Randy.

So Paul and Randy were both around my corner quite a bit that morning.  I had just walked a client to the door, and was on my way back down, when Paul starts talking to me.  He’s saying something like, “Do you know Jesus?  Do you believe in Jesus?  Have you been saved?” all in a televangelist preachers voice, barely pausing for me to answer if I’d wanted to.

Then I realize he’s new, so I hold up my hand, “stop,” and I say, “I’m sorry, stop, I need to tell you this – I don’t talk to protesters out here. At all.”

Of course, he’s still talking over me, but he says, “Why not?  Why don’t you…” and I say, “I don’t talk to protesters, please stop talking to me,” and he keeps going, “Why don’t you?  Why would you not want to talk to us, that doesn’t make any sense,” or something like that, and he’s moving closer to me as we’re walking.

So I stop walking and he does too and I say ~ I think i say, “You’re scaring me, you’re too close to me,” and at that same moment, the other guy, Randy, flings his hand up in the air and it whooshes by my face ~ and for a second time stops ~

~~ and I think ~ ok, he didn’t hit me, ok, no, I don’t think he was trying to hit me ~~

and he’s yelling, “Look at my hand!!  Look at my hand!!” and I glance at it ~ he’s dangling it in front of my face still, and I can see that one of the fingers is not straight, there’s something not quite right with his hand, and he says “Youall don’t want to talk to us, you belittle us out here!  You belittle us,” and he turns to Paul, “Don’t they?  You’ve heard them! They belittle us, out here and then they don’t want to talk to us…”

And while he’s yelling, I say, “You’re scaring me, stay away from me, you’re scaring me,” and I’m frozen, I don’t think I move, and I say it again, “You’re scaring me,” because I want him to know that what he’s doing is intimidating ~ and some other people – and maybe Paul too – they say something to him, and he moves away from me.

And I can breathe again.

That happened Saturday, and when I write it, I’m holding my breath.

Which is funny in a way.  I didn’t think he intended to hurt me, I didn’t think he was going to beat me up, but my body sure reacted like I needed to run.

That’s all really, that’s the whole story.  There were a couple of other things that day.  One of the protesters demanded that we share our cookies (ginger snaps) with him, and got righteously indignant when we didn’t.   He’d been yelling all morning that we’re just like the Nazi’s in Hitler’s Germany ~ and then he was shocked that we were too selfish to share our cookies.  {Lovely ginger snaps, they were!}

Anyhow, the day was done, and we were leaving, I was talking to another escort, ready for breakfast, when I looked up.  One of the protesters was walking in the street, near the curb but in the street and he was talking and next to him ~ oh!  Next to him was a young couple, the girl was next to the protester and she was trying to get as far away from him as she could ~ trying so hard that she was angling farther out into the street.

When I realized what was happening, I said, “Omigosh, are you going to the clinic?” and she nodded, her face kind of scrunched up like she was in pain.  I smiled, and said, “You want some company?” and she nodded.  And her face relaxed a little bit.

So I buddied up with her and the other escort got on the other side, and I apologized for not seeing her sooner, and said it looked like that protester was going to walk her right into the middle of the road, and generally just chattered randomly the rest of the way to the door.

Then we went to breakfast.

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About Fausta

Trauma sensitive Consultant and Coach for Compassionate professionals who experience second hand trauma and are at risk of burnout so they can keep doing the work that matters to them and to the world.

3 thoughts on “Just Another Saturday

  1. Pingback: Force Birth Advocacy – Anti-Woman all the Time « Dead Wild Roses

  2. I think I held my breath just reading this.

    This is why I admire you guys so. That took an incredible amount of courage to stand your ground and tell him he was scaring you. Being confronted with angry, unhinged people is not something most people would voluntarily do. That incident alone would be enough to drive a lot of people off the escort line and never come back.

    And we know you’re going to go back. That’s the incredible thing about this whole story.

    *hugs* Sorry you had to go through that though.

    • Thanks, Longtail, fortunately things aren’t quite that dramatic every day. But they’re bullies, and bullies need someone to stand up to them, right?

      And you’re right, of course I’m going back – that’s funny, it never occurred to me not to.

      Thanks for the support, it’s appreciated, as always!!

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