piece of meat
As of late, I have been a master of slack... but this is too, how shall I say, interesting to not post.
The story goes a little like this:
I was standing on the street getting a taxi like I do every day to go to lunch. Only on this day the car that stopped was different. It was driven by an Uzbek woman. First, let me explain, there aren't a lot of women driving here. For a traditionally dressed Uzbek woman to stop and offer me a ride was a bit out of the ordinary to say the least, especially with another woman in the front passenger seat already.
I say hello and tell her where I want to go. She says ok and then I ask the price. She wants 1,000 soum, but eventually agrees to 800.
I get in and off we go. The woman in the passenger seat turns and asks if I am British. I say no, I am American. She then asks if Americans are black or white. I say we are both. It took a little while for my answer to sink in, but it was finally accepted by both of them. Then the passenger tells me she studied German in school and doesn't speak English (but still tried a few phrases). They introduce themselves.
We stop at a stop light. The driver turns to look at me, then gives me the once over... twice. She smiles and turns back around as the light turns green. I start to get this creepy feeling. It is not everyday that I am objectified.
As we continue on our way, the conversation returns to the typical taxi conversations I have. Questions like, what are you doing here, how long are you here for, etc. They conversation pauses every once in a while for the two of them to discuss something (presumably me) in Uzbek.
We come to another red light. Again, the driver turns and looks me over like a slab of meat hanging in the bazaar. Her smile really makes me wonder what in the world she is thinking. As we start to go again, something is said that could have been interpreted as an invitation to join the two of them for something more. Not wanting to join them (and not fully understanding what the really want) I decide it is time to forget all the Russian I know.
Unfortunately, she doesn't really know where she is going so my cover is blown when I have to speak up and explain it to her. At this point we are only a block away from my destination so I start to get my money ready so I can make a quick exit.
I hand over the money and hop out. They both smile, look me over one last time and wish me well in Uzbek and Italian?!
For some reason when I hear women talking about being on equal footing with men, I don't really think this is what they mean. Or maybe they do?
The story goes a little like this:
I was standing on the street getting a taxi like I do every day to go to lunch. Only on this day the car that stopped was different. It was driven by an Uzbek woman. First, let me explain, there aren't a lot of women driving here. For a traditionally dressed Uzbek woman to stop and offer me a ride was a bit out of the ordinary to say the least, especially with another woman in the front passenger seat already.
I say hello and tell her where I want to go. She says ok and then I ask the price. She wants 1,000 soum, but eventually agrees to 800.
I get in and off we go. The woman in the passenger seat turns and asks if I am British. I say no, I am American. She then asks if Americans are black or white. I say we are both. It took a little while for my answer to sink in, but it was finally accepted by both of them. Then the passenger tells me she studied German in school and doesn't speak English (but still tried a few phrases). They introduce themselves.
We stop at a stop light. The driver turns to look at me, then gives me the once over... twice. She smiles and turns back around as the light turns green. I start to get this creepy feeling. It is not everyday that I am objectified.
As we continue on our way, the conversation returns to the typical taxi conversations I have. Questions like, what are you doing here, how long are you here for, etc. They conversation pauses every once in a while for the two of them to discuss something (presumably me) in Uzbek.
We come to another red light. Again, the driver turns and looks me over like a slab of meat hanging in the bazaar. Her smile really makes me wonder what in the world she is thinking. As we start to go again, something is said that could have been interpreted as an invitation to join the two of them for something more. Not wanting to join them (and not fully understanding what the really want) I decide it is time to forget all the Russian I know.
Unfortunately, she doesn't really know where she is going so my cover is blown when I have to speak up and explain it to her. At this point we are only a block away from my destination so I start to get my money ready so I can make a quick exit.
I hand over the money and hop out. They both smile, look me over one last time and wish me well in Uzbek and Italian?!
For some reason when I hear women talking about being on equal footing with men, I don't really think this is what they mean. Or maybe they do?
posted by jeff re: at 11:08 PM
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