Thank You, Men, For Helping Me Realize That I Do Not Exist

On the packed subway this morning, jammed into the corner between a set of doors and a bench railing, with one man’s armpit in my hair and another’s elbows jammed into my ribs, I realized something. That something was that another man would shove his way into the car, give me a bloody nose with his backpack, and not bat an eye as he farted directly into my nostrils. Then, that actually happened at the next stop.

It was all okay though, because it was in that moment that I realized something else — and that something is the fact that I simply do not exist.

How did I not have this realization sooner? I should have known that these men would be treating me with the utmost respect had I truly been an existing being.

My realizations should have kicked in when the man in the seat next to me on a 6 hour bus ride to DC stretched his legs into my footwell and used my shoulder as a pillow.

If not in that instance, then I really should have noticed during our daily meetings at work, where men would talk and laugh through my pitches and pitch the same ideas minutes later to a resounding applause.

But now that I know I don’t exist, I can finally see the light.

If I were to really exist, men wouldn’t let the door slam in my face, nor would they knock a latte out of my hands and down my dress as they rushed by me out of the coffee shop. They would see me walking — notice me, even — with a piping hot beverage in my hands and pause, letting me pass and perhaps uttering an “excuse me, miss”.

But I’m getting ahead of myself here.

As long as I go out of my way to be sure a man can’t hit me with any appendages, walk into me, knock me over, injure me, pile his belongings on top of me, use me as a pillow, sit on me, spill extremely hot liquids on me, or take my ideas, I can simply enjoy not existing.

Now that I’m fully aware that I don’t exist, I’ve achieved complete enlightenment. I no longer worry if a man is going to cut me in line for a metrocard and smack me in the head with the neck of the guitar he has strung across his back.

I KNOW it will happen. And I embrace it.

I welcome with open arms every hot coffee knocked into my lap, every fart released directly into my nasal passage, and every elbow to the eye socket.

I’ve realized that what I once — so naively — thought was disrespect for my existence is the exact opposite: respect for my non-existence.