Mz. Fest production of ‘Shit Men Have Said to Me’

I was sitting on a bench at the Suburban Station platform beside Track 4 Section B, reading. The man bending over me was a SEPTA conductor who’d strolled off of a train stopped on the opposite platform.

I looked at the sign on the adjacent pillar, which said Track 4 Section B, and then at the light-board beside it, where my train was listed to arrive in 10 minutes on Track 4 Section B. I had not asked for directions. I was not walking around with that wondering look of freshly disembarked suburbanites who can’t figure out how the heck they get up to street level at City Hall. My head had been bent silently over my book.

For a moment, my mind raced. Did something about the way I was sitting there seem distressed, inappropriate, or incompetent? Was my train, as SEPTA trains are sometimes wont to do, unduly delayed, canceled, or boarding, unannounced, on another track?

I looked up at the man. “Why do you ask?” I replied quietly.

His answer was to widen his eyes, throw up his hands in that universal “I’m innocent!” (or maybe “can you believe this girl?”) gesture, and back away without speaking.

“Where are you going?”

The thing that really struck me about the encounter was not its strangeness, but how common it actually is, at least for me, especially on public transit. Men I don’t know often ask me where I’m going, and every time, I get that same little rush of confusion and then indignation that I can’t quite pinpoint or tamp down.

Is there some reason I look like I need help? Have I missed something threatening about my environment or destination? Why does a stranger feel like it’s his business to ask me this when I give no sign of needing directions or wanting to have a conversation? Why does this man want to know where I’m going?

Sometimes I pretend not to have heard, sometimes I just say “to work,” and sometimes, if I don’t feel the situation is threatening, as with that conductor, I ask the man why he wants to know, which usually ends whatever conversation he was trying to start.

Mz. Fest

That’s why I was interested in the workshop performance of a show called Shit Men Have Said to Me: Tales of How Men and Women Communicate, directed by ReVamp Collective co-artistic director Carly Bodnar at Plays and Players’ Mz. Fest, which included three short plays during the festival run between March 31 and April 5.

Since the show (written by Bodnar, Erin Carr, Greg Nanni, Katherine Perry, Slade Roff, and Kristen Scatton) is apparently still under development, the production wasn’t open for reviews, but I was curious about how it would connect to my own experiences.

Not surprisingly, most of the anecdotes imparted by the ensemble of six (three men and three women) revolved around instances of sexual harassment or assault, including one woman’s story about being forced to kiss a man in the street while he held a gun to her head.

Another monologue, perhaps for the sake of some balance of perspective, came from one of the men, who described in depth his own “nightmare”: standing in a doorway and watching a woman come toward him, and not knowing if she’ll be insulted if he doesn’t hold the door for her, or if she’ll be insulted if he does.

It’s hard to tell if this juxtaposition (a kiss at gunpoint versus confusion in a doorway) is meant to highlight the disparity in the risk factor of these scenarios or is simply a good-faith attempt to humanize the dudes. I know the world has plenty of decent guys — though, honestly, if your nightmare really is worrying about whether or not to hold the door, I envy you. And I don’t need your monologue about it.

Beyond “Smile, baby”

It all reminds me that there’s a bigger context here. The shit men say to me often has little to do with unwanted sexual advances, at least on the surface. It’s not all “Smile for me, baby!” and “Damn, girl.” It’s just, well, weird shit that I really doubt they’d be taking the time to say to a random guy. It’s a whole world in which it’s OK for men to say whatever they want to me because we’re sharing the same space for a moment.

Some recent examples:

“Are you a good speller?”

“Where do you go to school?” (Not going to explain I got my degree almost a decade ago.)

And, in response to the fact that I was standing at a bus stop and my hoodie and my suitcase were both purple: “Please ensure that your luggage always matches your jacket!”

Maybe I should write a show. It could be called This Whole Stupid World Where for Some Reason You Are Entitled to Have Me Stop and Listen Politely to All Your Weird and/or Wholly Unsolicited Comments and Questions.

Or, Uninvited Unnecessary Train Station Queries That Suddenly Make Me Question Something Completely Ordinary, Correct, Independent, and Appropriate That I’m Doing, and I’d Rather Not Answer, and Then the Man Acts As If I’ve Offended HIM.

Nah. Shit Men Have Said to Me has a better ring to it. That night, I considered my walk from Plays and Players to the train a huge success because only one man leered at me. So keep telling it, ReVamp.