So… What’s Your Number?

“So what’s your number?” Lifting his phone up to his face, he was ready to press his fingers to his touch screen.

I had anticipated this moment ever since I wore a figure hugging black dress to the office. “You look really good… lady in black,” he says outside the hall corridor, his pupils moving from my chest down to my hips as I smile slightly uncomfortably from the attention.

“Thanks!” I bubbly respond, shuffling into the office for my 9 O’clock shift.

The thing is, despite the #metoo movement, I’ve been hesitant to call out behavior because I am the quintessential epitome of a walking sex on a stick. I have curves that won’t quit, a bubbly flirty energy, and a progressive view on female work attire that often leads many to believe I have it coming.

“I’m no Natalie Portman.” I would later tell my therapist.

I’ve certainly been guilty of crossing boundaries. I’ve given hugs, I’ve cracked jokes, and I’ve overshared what is going on in my head often to the detriment of my own internal safety and well-being.

So what’s the harm with this interaction?

At 4:00pm, thunder and lightning sweep across the dark sky as our team of four wraps up for the day while we gaze out the second story office window.

“Who needs a ride home?” My boss asks anxiously from her office entrance.

All three women in our group own cars, except for the new hire that takes the bus.

“Do you need a ride home?” My boss asks the lone male in our group two feet away.

Swiveling his chair into my direction, I already feel predatory eyes on me.

“Where do YOU live?” He asks with blunt intention.

The old me would have been specific, not a care in the world. But the new me knows better, or at least knows enough. “Be discerning” echo’s in my subconscious as I respond “not far from here.”

“I will go with you,” he answers confidently.

“Is that ok?” My boss asks.

“Sure. No problem.” I respond, as a tiny pit forms in my stomach.

I always suppress this pit often to the detriment of my own well-being.

And I’m certainly not going to be the asshole that doesn’t give a ride to the only coworker who doesn’t have a car. I’m not going to be the bitch that says no.

Shutting off my computer, the new hire and I walk out of our office corridor, down the hallway to the back exit of the building. Opening the exit door, a downpour consumes the parking lot driveway. Bolting to the car, the new hire follows behind. Rain doesn’t bother me as much as the killer lighting that seems to get worse every year we delay action on climate change.

Hopping into the passenger side door, he immediately starts fiddling with the air dials and windshield wipers. To counteract this power move, I direct my hands to the wiper blades to assert my agency.

While fiercely independent, I am still wading through the difficult process of asserting my voice. And this interaction is certainly challenging my blurred sense of boundaries and autonomy.

Nevertheless, I start the ignition and turn onto the main street, as silence consumes the car. To break the tension, and to start a conversation, I ask a question I have been asking everyone shy of my gynecologist.

“What are your values?”

“Integrity.” He says very quickly.

“Really?” I respond, turning my head in his direction. “It’s easy to say integrity but do you think people actually act in integrity?” I ask with curiosity.

“It should never be hard to do the right thing.” His eyes are focused on the road as he looks straight ahead to the cars ahead of us.

I roll my eyes in the back of my head. Life experience would tell me that this is complete and utter bullshit. Also what is the right thing? How do you know if your right thing is going to be the same as somebody else’ right thing? What about integrity of the mind and spirit?

My internal dialogue is spinning as I ruminate over this value.

But I decide to move on.

“Ok integrity, what else?”

“Live life like how my father would expect.”

I had to think for a couple of seconds before extracting his meaning.

“Like make your father proud?”

“Yes, he was a good man.” He looks down at his lap as he rubs his face with his hands.

“So we have integrity, and your father. What else?”

“Carry the same friends you had as a child. They know you.”

My spirit senses a resistance with this answer and I have to retort.

“Hmm I have to disagree. You change a lot throughout your life. And the things you had in common with someone as a kid may not be the things you have in common as a growing adult.”

“That is true,” he says with an air of acceptance.

Ok maybe I had him pegged all wrong. Maybe his intentions are pure.

“Any other values?” I ask, taking an advanced left into his apartment complex.

“Have fun…” He looks at me as he says this and the tone immediately shifts. But luckily his drop off is a minute away. “Have fun?” I ask innocuously.

“Yolo,” he responds. It’s almost like he wants to lick his lips but his eyes are dead focused on mine. If the eyes are the mirrors to the soul, then these eyes signal “danger” in my world.