The (Fake) Phone Call:

You are walking home from class all alone when you think that person walking towards you kinda, sorta looks like the dude you made out with the other night/that girl your sorority rejected who won’t leave you alone/somebody else that you really don’t want to talk to.

You squint. You stare. You verify.

“Sh*t,” you think to yourself. “I really don’t want to talk to him/her.” But what are you supposed to do? You are walking alone (towards the person!); you have no out. You can’ just throw your iPod on – you would look like a total ass if you just walked right past jamming out to your favorite mix. And you can’t duck and cover; you’ve most likely already been spotted and hiding behind a tree is just weird.

There is only one option left: the cell phone fake out.

So, you reach into your pocket/bag, silence that sucker (because there is nothing more embarrassing than pretending to be on your phone and then having it ring in your ear), and begin a full-blown conversation with no one.

“Yeah, I thought the exam was hard. What did you think?” You ask the non-existent person on the other end of the line. You laugh, you answer questions and you continue this conversation as you pass by and wave to Person-You-Don’t Want-To-Talk-To.

You look back. He/she is far, far away, which means it is safe to give up the charade. You stick your phone back in your pocket and continue your leisurely stroll home.

Crisis averted.

And, no, you are not alone; we’ve all done it, too.

A male friend of mine was talking about how the mailroom guy on campus was so grouchy. “He gives you this glare and doesn’t say a word even when you say hi,” he said.

I was surprised. “I’ve seen him smile and say hi.”

My friend rolled his eyes. “Well of course. You’re a girl.”

I protested, but as I interacted with him again and again I realized that the mailroom guy was just nice to girls. And it was the same with the post office workers, the cafeteria workers, and a handful of other strangers I interact with on a regular basis. Before you think I’m padding my own ego and saying I’m smoking hot, let me assure you, it wasn’t just me. People are just more likely to treat a girl politely, to smile and be more helpful.

At first I thought, What luck! Girls can finally enjoy something about being a girl! But as the overactive-feminist part of my brain worked on this new idea, I liked it less and less.

I don’t want special treatment because I’m looking feminine, and in particular, I don’t want this kind of special treatment. It seems too much like men feel like they have to coddle me, to help me out with things because I’m too weak or stupid to figure it out myself. Hence, the post office worker’s painstakingly slow explanation of how the automatic stamp machine works. I noticed he let a man just work the machine himself, but he felt it necessary to do every step for me. This is killing me with kindness if ever I’ve seen it.

Still, I can’t decide if it’s just one of those things I should enjoy about being a girl, or if I should be getting all hot and bothered about it. After all, there’s nothing wrong with a little friendly interaction. Why not smile at someone and get a smile in return? But the friendly feeling that comes with an interaction sours a little if I think that I’m getting this treatment just because I’m a girl. It’s just one of those pesky, small things that makes me feel like a little less than an individual.

So while there’s nothing wrong with friendliness, I feel like I should assert myself a little more in interactions with strangers. If somebody tries to do something for me again, the next time I should step up and say, “Thanks, but no thanks — I can handle it myself.” After all, I am a woman.