Free To Be Me in 350!: Losing My Feminism

I try to live my life in a way that disregards traditional gender roles. In our house, Husband cooks and I pursue a career outside the home. We have different last names. I admit, some might say I'm a bit of a feminist. Until they read this blog entry.

I was late. I was supposed to be at SuperSaver's at 4:30 p.m. It was now 4:40 p.m. I was driving the "back way" to her house, through quiet neighborhood streets. I was approaching a stop sign. But it was kind of a random stop sign. You stopped, but the only option at this point was to turn right. One might see this as an ideal opportunity for the famous "rolling stop."

I was going too fast. Under normal circumstances, I would have had time to decrease my speed to an acceptable level before making the turn. I did not anticipate the 30' of black ice. The brakes locked up, and I slid past the stop sign and directly into the snowbank beyond. Rough estimation of speed at the time of impact? Twenty miles per hour?

I slammed into the snowbank. But I wasn't afraid. I drive a big SUV. I can get myself out. I put 4-wheel drive on and put 'er in reverse. But... all I hear is skidding tires. Uh oh.

I noticed several cars poke by. At first, I thought they were stopping to help me. But I soon realized they were simply drivers familiar with the speed limit and the road conditions who were successfully avoiding my fate. I began to feel the seeds of guilt. I was clearly at fault, and I deserved to be left on the side of the road. In a pathetic attempt to change my circumstances, I used an empty mini-Pringles can to try and "shovel" some snow behind my back tires. You know, to create traction. I deposited about two little cans worth behind each tire.

It probably goes without saying, but my efforts were unsuccessful.

A moment later, NiceGuy #1 drives up. Maybe he saw my pathetic Pringles act, maybe he was just a Good Samaritan, but he is willing to give me a push. NiceGuy #1 tries to push while I'm tapping the gas in reverse. Skidding tires. NiceGuy#1 takes a closer look at the left front tire, looks at me, and says, "Wow. You're in there deep." NiceGuy #1 says he is going to drive home, get a shovel (he lives on the corner) and walk back. My seed of guilt grows.

While NiceGuy#1 is gone, NiceGuy#2 drives up. NiceGuy#1 returns, and NiceGuy#1 and #2 both try pushing the car, but to no avail. Niceguy#1 points out the left front tire to #2, and #2 agrees that yes, I am in there quite deep. My cheeks begin to burn as I sit in my comfortable, heated car, tapping the gas, while NiceGuys are working hard outside. I realize that I am pushing the women's movement back a decade as I watch the men shovel.

LadyWalkingHerDog arrives on the scene. She asks if I have a rubber mat in my car to create traction behind the back tires. Apparently, her driving knowledge is from the same camp as mine. She also helpfully points out that I am in there really deep.

LadyWalkingHerDog, apparently not a feminist, continues walking. I throw out my passenger-side floor mat (desperate times), NiceGuy#1 and #2 shovel then push, but still nothing. NiceGuy#3 drives up. He knows NiceGuy#1, and yells something about NiceGuy#1 shoveling me out. NiceGuy#1 responds he doesn't want to, but someone has to. I am now ethically torn. The feminist in me says get out of your car and start shoveling. The wus in me stays put.

The two of them discuss strategy. Maybe I should take the car out of 4-wheel-drive. NiceGuy#1 and #3 try pushing while I'm in 2-wheel drive, and when it doesn't work, they try more shoveling.

NiceGuy#3, after observing I was in the snowbank quite deeply, announced he had a tow strap. NiceGuy#1 and #3 leave to get it, and NiceGuy#2 is excused from the scene.

Alone again, two other guys stopped to see if I needed help. NiceGuy#4 parked, got out, looked at my left front tire, and exclaimed, "Wow, you are in there deep!"

NiceGuy#1 and #3 returned with a truck and a tow strap. At first, the truck pulling me out skidded as well, and I began to worry I was never getting out. But, with NiceGuy#3 pushing, NiceGuy#1 (in the truck) pulling, and I in reverse tapping carefully, the SUV slowly began to move.

I was out! I tried to offer compensation (a.k.a. Guilt Money), but of course, the chivalrous gentlemen refused. Although the car suffered only minimal damage to the lowest plastic part of the front bumper, my feminist identity took a significant hit. Alas, tonight I was the stereotypical (Asian!) woman driver, rescued by the superior strategy and strength of men.