Welcome to “Another Important Piece of Writing” a monthly newsletter/life update/writing exercise/rant/potentially the next most important piece of literature from the 21st century but probably not.
Well well well, if it isn’t the people who enjoy my little musings! My little brain farts and my little “what do you reckons”? Welcome back, psychos. Let’s get stuck in…
This month, I had an incident with the Australia Federal Police.
Oh, what, like I’m the first person that’s happened to? Like I’m the first person whose done a little oopsy poopsy in the airport? Like I’m the first person who’s been accused of smuggling a dangerous weapon onto a domestic flight thereby breaking Australia Aviation Law?
I’ll explain.
I accidentally brought my safety cat keyring to the airport. If you’re unfamiliar a safety cat is what two airport staff and four AFP personnel referred to as “a knuckleduster” but it’s shaped like a cat because it’s for girls!
Essentially, you put your fingers through its eyes and it’s ears through somebody elses (If you’re being attacked, obviously! Not to be used take down a Jetstar Sydney to Melbourne flight, I swear). This is not to be confused with the OH&S Safety Cat that I found while perusing Google Images.
After it had been discovered, four AFP personnel eventually made their way over to security (slow day down in the office if there’s that many of you here over a keyring I guess) while I was googling slight of hand tricks to see if I could steal it back.
After a long deliberation that felt purposefully theatrical to really make me shit my dacks (and to look up my criminal record to confirm I’m not a Frequent Fighter™) they decided they wouldn’t charge me. I would, however have to relenquish my safety kitty. “Just take the fucking thing” I thought. Anything to get away from the shitty energy cloud cops bring wherever they go, and so I could finally start my week away.
I get it, I suppose. You probably shouldn’t bring something onto a flight that could potenially open a main artery, my bad! But what annoyed me about this whole situation was not that I nearly got in trouble (althought it didn’t help), it was the conversation the Token Female Cop tried to have while the men deliberated my fate.
She tried to commiserate with me… woman to woman, gal to gal, walking attempted assault charge to walking attempted assault charge.
”Look, as a woman I get it. It’s scary to have to be out and about and walking home alone late at night. It’s frightening, I get it, it’s frightening!”
Immediately all I could think was… “Not for you, you have a gun! A FRICKEN GUN!?!” How could you possibly say that to me with a straight face? How could you utter those words in my stupid little civilian earholes as your service weapon is resting on your hip as you say them?? Imagine walking around with A GUN, spinning it around on your index finger, sauntering down the street procaliming “Yeah, I understand the plight of the every day man!” The same officer readjusting their belt tactical belt that’s being weighed down by the various standard-issue maiming accoutrement, saying “It’s people like us that are the real victims!”
Your days start off pausing before you leave the house to go “Phone, wallet, keys, gun…” We are living different lives, lady!
She went on.
“I’m constantly educating women on the dangers of carrying weapons. Because what happens if the attacker get there hands on the weapon… what then?”
A fine point, except she offered no alternatives. There was no “Look, you can’t carry a weapon but between you and me… here’s a move I learnt in the academy that will collapse a man’s trachea and make his balls explode”. No “This is a gut punch that won’t kill him, but it will make him shit himself to the point of irrevocable psychological damage”.
Nothing! The general vibe was more of a “Look, if it’s gonna happen it’s gonna happen. Just use your keys to cosplay as Wolverine like the rest of us, and hope for the best!”
If we’re having a little gal to gal, gash to gash offer me something good! If you’re not going to give me real world, practical advise then give me some gossip or something! Which one of your colleagues over there is the first to jump when they hear a loud noise instead of going for their gun? Why do your uniforms say canine unit but there’s no dog? Where’s the TEA?
The strangest thing of all was they let me keep my fork, which is what I originally thought set the x-ray machine off in the first place. For a moment I thought, I have the opportunity to do the funniest thing right now. Hey if you wanna be remembered, you gotta do something memorable!
My legal team (the small person in my head with an ounce of self preservation and access to a blazer) has insisted I let you know I’ve luckily never had to use my safety cat, nor a fork to defend off or willing harm anybody. I’m a good Christian woman in one of the parellel universe versions of myself.
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I recently got recommended to see a male gynaecologist for the first time and my immediate thought was, absolutely not. Sorry, but from what I know from the broader subject matter and personal first hand experience about straight men, quite frankly there’s not a chance in hell.
All power to you if you have/will allow a straight male doctor inside you but it’s not for me. I cannot see a world in where a man is starting his day briefcase in hand and best interest in women’s health in mind — that’s gotta be somebody whose in it for the love of the game.
If you saw a straight dude walking into a Bras ‘n’ Things or Honey Birdette weilding his resume, you’d call cops! Bare minimum you’d be shooing him off with a broom screaching “Geddoutta here! Scram!” like a feral dog wandered off the street. It’d be unthinkable, and yet, we’re supposed to believe straight male gynaecologist are just out here passionate about the wellbeing of the female reproductive system with no ulterior motives? He mustn’t be a little freak because he had his nose deep in a female anatomy textbook for 6 years? Yeah, that makes it better.
I tried to think about the process of a young man deciding to become an OBGYN, and all I could conjur up was picturing one attending his schools career fair day and hearing somebody say,“Do what you love and you’ll never have to work a day in your life!” and immediately thinking “Well I want to be a pussy inspector!”
I’m sure genuinely compassionate, caring and selfless male gynaecologist exist. They’d have to statstically… I just can’t picture it. I’ve seen what men have and will do at bars at the chance of sleeping with a woman, so it wouldn’t surprise me if one took on a HECS debt so he could be inside 8 different women on a daily basis while being paid for the privilege.
I suppose I’m sorry if you’re a guy gynae reading this, silently fuming at outrageous display of overt sexism I’m not really sorry about, but, I’m never not going to picture you applying for medical school in a “FBI: Female Body Inspector” T-shirt rubbing your hands together mischeviously.
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I just realised how menacing I sound so far so let me tell you about something dumb.
I recently took a one day clowning workshop, the news of which immedately made my friends and peers begin to lose respect for me considerably!
I don’t know why improv and clowing is dramatically seen as less than when compared to stand up comedy, but it just is. Maybe it’s because it’s hard to see people playing silly buggers once you’ve learnt about things like “the economy” and “annual colonoscopies”. Perhaps it feels disconcerting to know there are people out there making up stories for tens of people about the unknown canned sequel “Snakes on a Helicopter” where a python commandeers the aircraft to find Samuel L. Jackson, who are also completing the exact same tax returns you are.
Look, I’m trying to become a better and more well rounded performer ok, sue me! If that means wrestling over a wooden chair, pretending to be a pedestal fan or meowing at the audience for 2 minutes straight then so be it! That’s my journey and I’ll ask that you respect it (to my face, what you do behind closed doors and/or my back is absolutely fair game).
I noted recently in a conversation with my Mum that I mourned all the versions of myself that there could have been. There’s been so many times when I’ve had creative passions or pursuits that I’ve had to give up because life got in way (as it is so known to do). So right now I’m really On One™. I’m trying anything I can get my greasy little mits on in the pursuit of bettering myself as a performer. I’m allowing myself to do the silliest, craziest and ridiculous of workshops or classes to see if I can find something else deep with in the ravines of my mind that’s worth exploring (and let’s be real, possibly cashing in on).
I bring this up because incase you see my in a state where you’re like “Is she working on something, or did she take her dexxies at the wrong time?” I want you to know… it’s probably both.
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