I went to DMV to record the purchase of a vehicle, change the title, all the little legal things that must done in such a case. As I was leaving, a man in probably his late 50’s, was standing near the door. I approached and he quickly looked me up and down, his judgment obvious in his face. “Short, chubby, middle-aged mom,” and I was dismissed. And we both left the building.
Just outside the door, I stopped at my new vehicle, a cherry-red Kawasaki Vulcan 800. He stopped in his tracks, obviously surprised. “This is (long pause) yours? You... ride this?” he asked. “Yeah, it’s mine.”
Suddenly the rules all changed. In the next moment, he looked me up and down again, pausing to check my left hand for a ring (I don’t wear one), and re-evaluated his earlier judgment. And he locked eyes with me and smiled.
I smiled back, got on my bike, and left.
As I rode away, I couldn’t help laughing a little at how something as simple as one’s choice of transportation offers others the opportunity to make entire value judgments about a person…at how this machine made of steel and chrome and paint and gears suddenly changed my worth to a complete stranger.
I guess I don’t look like a person who rides a bike is supposed to look. For starters, I’m not a guy. A lot of people seem to think it’s a guy thing. I get that re-evaluative look from others as well, people who talk with me as we walk along the sidewalk, clearly thinking I’m a “normal” person, until I stop at my bike and start to put on my helmet. The look of surprise is usually followed by the glance up and down my arms. Sometimes, the question is actually voiced. “Oh, no tattoos?”
No, no tats; no leather bra or tassels; no brass or silver studs on my gear; no flags flying from the back and no custom pipes rattling windows for ½ mile in any direction. Just me; just a simple bike; just because I like to ride.
“I can’t stand judgmental people,” a friend once told me. But aren’t we all, in our way, people of judgment? We take in first impressions and decide whether or not we will continue the encounter. We hear another’s political views or religious affiliations and make judgments about the rest of their character and belief system. Ah, if you are a Christian that means you….; well, since you’re a liberal you must…. ; and we each fill in the blank with all our judgments.
Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. told us he had a dream where one day his children would be judged not by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character. Not by the color of their skin, or the school they attended, or the clothes they wear, or the style of their hair, not by the money in their pocket or the job they hold or even the people they hang with…not even by their mode of transportation…simply for the character they had formed throughout their lives.
I wonder if, collectively, that will ever be possible.
I'm trying to get back in the habit of writing every day. Lately, I've been working on character sketches. Some of those will find their way here, in the form of individual comments to this post.
Comments
Just outside the door, I stopped at my new vehicle, a cherry-red Kawasaki Vulcan 800. He stopped in his tracks, obviously surprised. “This is (long pause) yours? You... ride this?” he asked.
“Yeah, it’s mine.”
Suddenly the rules all changed. In the next moment, he looked me up and down again, pausing to check my left hand for a ring (I don’t wear one), and re-evaluated his earlier judgment. And he locked eyes with me and smiled.
I smiled back, got on my bike, and left.
As I rode away, I couldn’t help laughing a little at how something as simple as one’s choice of transportation offers others the opportunity to make entire value judgments about a person…at how this machine made of steel and chrome and paint and gears suddenly changed my worth to a complete stranger.
I guess I don’t look like a person who rides a bike is supposed to look. For starters, I’m not a guy. A lot of people seem to think it’s a guy thing. I get that re-evaluative look from others as well, people who talk with me as we walk along the sidewalk, clearly thinking I’m a “normal” person, until I stop at my bike and start to put on my helmet. The look of surprise is usually followed by the glance up and down my arms. Sometimes, the question is actually voiced. “Oh, no tattoos?”
No, no tats; no leather bra or tassels; no brass or silver studs on my gear; no flags flying from the back and no custom pipes rattling windows for ½ mile in any direction. Just me; just a simple bike; just because I like to ride.
“I can’t stand judgmental people,” a friend once told me. But aren’t we all, in our way, people of judgment? We take in first impressions and decide whether or not we will continue the encounter. We hear another’s political views or religious affiliations and make judgments about the rest of their character and belief system. Ah, if you are a Christian that means you….; well, since you’re a liberal you must…. ; and we each fill in the blank with all our judgments.
Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. told us he had a dream where one day his children would be judged not by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character. Not by the color of their skin, or the school they attended, or the clothes they wear, or the style of their hair, not by the money in their pocket or the job they hold or even the people they hang with…not even by their mode of transportation…simply for the character they had formed throughout their lives.
I wonder if, collectively, that will ever be possible.
Judy Neb