The ride on Bus #2 today was dominated by a cell phone conversation a young woman in the back was holding. She was clearly very angry, and a little more listening gave me some indications why.
"You need to stop threatening me."
[...]
"If I have to make that call, I will. I donapos;t give a fuck."
[...]
"Yeah, Iapos;ll make the call if I need to. You just have to stop bothering me."
[...]
"If you want to start some funk, Iapos;m there. Iapos;m ready. I donapos;t give a fuck."
And so it went on, the one-sided conversation telling all I needed to know. I could fill in the blanks in the most predictable ways, and thereapos;s a good chance Iapos;m right: ex-boyfriend, possibly abusive, but now they had broken up and he was threatening her. She was going to call a friend, possibly someone better-connected, to "encourage" him to stop, but if necessary she would go at him herself.
She was a scrap of girl, too, probably in her late teens or early twenties. The abuse I inferred from the particular rhetoric sheapos;d employed, as well as the hard, cold, yet scared look in her eyes. I wondered about the phrase "I donapos;t give a fuck." She obviously did give a fuck. She was terrified, but far too tough to show it.
It made me think about a lot of things: how so many women go through these situations every day, how the phrase "I donapos;t give a fuck" is just as much of an obvious lie as "Iapos;m classy" or "Iapos;m a real man," whether or not her threat of "calling someone" necessarily involved gang activity and whether or not it would end in more violence. Mostly, I just felt a lot of sympathy for her, but I knew better than to let it show.
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