How Getting Chased by Chickens Prepared Me for My Encounter with an Exhibitionist

When I was in fifth grade I got two "Easter biddies," baby chickens dyed blue and pink, as pets one Easter.

I found out later that while white leghorn chickens make great laying hens, the roosters are of no use because they are nervous, wiry and not good for eating. So professional chicken sexers go to chicken farms and sort through the chicks, discarding the males. At Easter time the males got a reprieve, were dyed pastel colors and sold to unsuspecting children. (I'm not going to get into fowl justice and chicken rights here. I'm just telling my side of the story, which was inspired by Doug's post here. Or rather, the link from that post to Rindy's comments section.)

Anyway. The biddies grew up. They sat on the kitchen window ledge and crowed every morning, and since we lived in the city, they had to be sent to the country (actually, more of an undeveloped area of town) where we kept our horses.

When they grew up, they got mean. They chased me and my friends. They even chased me once while I was riding my horse -- that's a bold and stupid rooster. One minute my friends and I would be playing at the barn, next thing we knew we'd be chased by chickens up into the hay. Or, if they caught us out in the open and were running at us with spurs and beating wings, we'd try to outrun them and usually fail. They were truly terrifying, these two white roosters. At least to a fifth grader. My father taught us that we had one weapon: we could take off our shoes and throw them at the chickens to make them go away. We had two shots each. It always worked, though we didn't always find our shoes later.

My father finally solved the problem by giving the roosters to employees who took them home to eat. The only pets we've ever fed to anyone (and I was so sick of being terrorized that while I wasn't happy about them getting eaten, I was mainly glad they were gone). Probably another reason the Animal Protection League wouldn't let me have a dog.

Fast forward to college. I decided to walk to the drug store a few blocks away from my college in the Myers Park area of Charlotte, N.C. Not the sort of place where you'd expect to be bothered by anyone. I was wearing ridiculous but stylish shoes. It was the '70s. Great big black suede platform heels. Giant, towering, toppling things. For walking?

I noticed a man standing off to one side and there was something strange going on. So I looked again. Indeed! It was an exhibitionist, waggling his limp, most beloved object at me. He waggled and waggled. He even had on a trench coat, for goodness sakes! And it made me mad all the way down to my toes stuffed into my tall, ridiculous platform shoes.

I'd taken psychology in high school. I remembered that exhibitionism was some kind of perverted form of aggression. Or something. And he could waggle all he wanted, but I wasn't taking it anymore. I went into Defense Against Rooster mode.

I whipped off one giant black suede platform shoe and I waggled it at him. I yelled at him, saying things such as, "I'm going to have you put under the jail." And here's the funny part. I really really really wanted to throw my shoe at him but I was afraid he would take my shoe.

All those years of losing the shoes I threw at roosters. So, since I couldn't let go of the shoe, I hobbled after him on one platform shoe, stepping unevenly and comically across the sidewalk and into somebody's yard, convinced that the most important thing in the world was to have him cower from the threat of my waggling, waving, hostile shoe and whatever stupid threatening thing I could think to yell at him in an never-ending stream of non-profane abuse (I was such a young innocent thing I didn't even know how to cuss when provoked.)

He was not going to scare me, by dang it!

He quickly stuffed his even more deflated self back into his drawers and skulked to his car. I followed him, walking as best I could on one five-inch platform. Still waving my other shoe. Now telling him I was going to get his license and brother was his whatever sorry life he thought he was living was certainly finished now.

And he was in a car with no license plate! This guy was a "professional."

He sped off. I put my shoe on, hopping on one foot. I went to the drug store, mad as a wet hen. On the way back to the dorm I stopped at the house where the incident had happened and rang the doorbell. I asked the woman who answered the door if she knew the man. She talked to me through the screen and called the police. She told me to wait outside. I told my story to the policeman, then walked back to the dorm.

I called my mother on the phone and told her. She was very upset. She was sure I'd had an encounter with a would-be rapist. My father was angry with me for confronting the man and said he would have my young nephew fight with me to show me I wasn't strong enough to defeat a grown man (is that weird or what? my father was scared.) I told both of them that I had never been in danger. Then I got off the phone and cried.

Oh, how I wish I had thrown BOTH shoes.

Comments

[DM]

You are too funny!!!

I LOVE your spunk! How much of that did you exhibit when you were building your home? I'm thinking none of those corrupt sub contractors would have dared to mess with you.

[Angry]

That's very funny Anne, I love the way you describe his... well it's very funny.

I gotta tell you of the time I was walking down the street when I discovered my zipper was open. No problem, just zip it up before anyone sees me, right? Wrong.

The tang on the zipper had come away and try as I might I couldn't get a good purchase on the zipper to do it up. So I pulled the waistband of my trousers out far enough to put my hand down and poke my finger out through the open fly in an effort to grab the zipper between thumb and finger.

As I struggled I was getting very angry and with a flurry I flicked my overcoat open to get it out of the way, just as I did that a crazed girl from the local college threatened to throw her platform sh... Ummm... never mind...

[risingrainbow]

Oh my, I sure can understand your anger. But I'm afraid that your mom and dad are right, you could have been in danger.

Exposing oneself like that is considered to be a form of violence against woman. Those men who engage in such activity are on the way up the ladder of deviant behavior that leads to rape.

[Anne]

Risingrainbow, I'm sure you are right. But I had a deep need to wag that shoe at him and show him that I wasn't to be trifled with. Besides, he was such a wiener.

Doug, I have lost all my spunk. I went from spunky to depressive in about six hours one day. Maybe if I had thrown both shoes I would have maintained my spunkiness. You know, don't use it, you lose it. I chose to keep the shoes over my spunk.

And as for you, Angry. I see that you moved to Australia to escape justice! Very clever. Sure, your zipper was broken. Sure, you were just trying to fix it when the college girl and her imagination called the cops. They did put you under the jail, I hope? Because I'm sure that's what they do to exhibitionists. You're just lucky you don't have a platform shoe mark between your leering eyes!