Feminism and Tires
December 2, 2011
It was the end of October when it happened. My first flat tire. My friend Liese asked if I could take her and Jen to the CVS so they could get some basic supplies for around the house. I had just run out of shampoo so I agreed to take them over. We went in the evening just after the Halloween event at my school. We were dressed up in costumes so that little kids had a chance to go trick or treating in a safe environment. So the Queen of Hearts (Jen), Team Fortress 2’s Scout (Liese), and Fuzzy the Pirate headed off to CVS. We got there without incident but as we were driving out of the parking lot we heard a flopping sound coming from outside. My right front tire was no more. I went into my trunk and pulled out my sleeping bag, some books and bag which held my sleeping bag cover. I tossed them all to the ground and unscrewed the base of my trunk. So out came the spare, the tire iron, and the most poorly designed jack ever. I've never changed a tire. I have never had to. We laid the tire iron on the ground and started trying to figure out how to work the jack. It had three basic parts a base, two arms that when bent left the jack flat and a crank. The crank was the problem. It was a single black rod bent at the end to be flush with the mechanism. It took us a little bit to actually realize how that stupid thing worked because the end pointed out meaning that if it were a simple crank it had the tightest motion ever. The crank turns to the side to give leverage but it just didn't move in any way that one could put one motion into when this thing was on the ground under the car. So we got the crank working and I got to cranking. Jen asked if she could help. She had also never fixed a flat and wanted to know that she could if she had to. I let her crank and when got high enough I started on the lug-nuts. Jen finished cranking but it was as if she was experiencing a “mechanics high.” She asked if she could help with the lug-nuts and so I let her. I even took pictures so she could have evidence of her ability. She took the lug-nuts off and we replaced the tire together. She put everything back together. I couldn't have asked for her to do a better job. I posted the pictures to Facebook. “Why not?” I figured. It was an adventure and my friend got to do something she enjoyed. Turns out the why not is that my family doesn't think a girl can change a tire. Or at the very least that if there is a guy there to do it he should fix it. A few hour later I was answering comments like, “Why is there a girl changing your tire?” I explained that she wanted to. She asked me if she could try and I let her and she had fun. Had I done it the job would have been just as good but I would have received no joy from do it. Why shouldn't I have let her fix it? I was told to “hand in my man card” by my cousin Tommy who can’t even get himself out of the house let alone change a tire. How is his lazy ass more of a man if he wouldn't have been able to do it any way? Had I been alone, I would have fixed my tire myself and that would have been that. I know I can do it. Jen wanted to know that if she were alone she could do it.If I could do that little to make my friend happy, why shouldn't I? I have never identified myself as a feminist and neither had Jen but in arguing an justifying our actions we understood feminism. I had always been taught that my peers were my equals no matter what gender they were. Yet suddenly because I had a Y chromosome I was supposed to be better at fixing cars, despite us both have equal experience and affinity for the mechanical field. Some how because of the social roles that neither of us chose I was supposed to be better at something, or step up and do something. Which as you will recall I did step up to do. I was supposed to do it all even if someone offered help. I guarantee if Jen had been a guy no one would have given a shit of he helped me out. If Jen were a guy I would have been off the hook. I’m not sure how that’s fair to either of us. We were both equally capable. Equally willing. And raised to think of each other as equals. And I was somehow less of a man for letting an equal help me.
It was the end of October when it happened. My first flat tire. My friend Liese asked if I could take her and Jen to the CVS so they could get some basic supplies for around the house. I had just run out of shampoo so I agreed to take them over. We went in the evening just after the Halloween event at my school. We were dressed up in costumes so that little kids had a chance to go trick or treating in a safe environment. So the Queen of Hearts (Jen), Team Fortress 2’s Scout (Liese), and Fuzzy the Pirate headed off to CVS. We got there without incident but as we were driving out of the parking lot we heard a flopping sound coming from outside. My right front tire was no more. I went into my trunk and pulled out my sleeping bag, some books and bag which held my sleeping bag cover. I tossed them all to the ground and unscrewed the base of my trunk. So out came the spare, the tire iron, and the most poorly designed jack ever. I've never changed a tire. I have never had to. We laid the tire iron on the ground and started trying to figure out how to work the jack. It had three basic parts a base, two arms that when bent left the jack flat and a crank. The crank was the problem. It was a single black rod bent at the end to be flush with the mechanism. It took us a little bit to actually realize how that stupid thing worked because the end pointed out meaning that if it were a simple crank it had the tightest motion ever. The crank turns to the side to give leverage but it just didn't move in any way that one could put one motion into when this thing was on the ground under the car. So we got the crank working and I got to cranking. Jen asked if she could help. She had also never fixed a flat and wanted to know that she could if she had to. I let her crank and when got high enough I started on the lug-nuts. Jen finished cranking but it was as if she was experiencing a “mechanics high.” She asked if she could help with the lug-nuts and so I let her. I even took pictures so she could have evidence of her ability. She took the lug-nuts off and we replaced the tire together. She put everything back together. I couldn't have asked for her to do a better job. I posted the pictures to Facebook. “Why not?” I figured. It was an adventure and my friend got to do something she enjoyed. Turns out the why not is that my family doesn't think a girl can change a tire. Or at the very least that if there is a guy there to do it he should fix it. A few hour later I was answering comments like, “Why is there a girl changing your tire?” I explained that she wanted to. She asked me if she could try and I let her and she had fun. Had I done it the job would have been just as good but I would have received no joy from do it. Why shouldn't I have let her fix it? I was told to “hand in my man card” by my cousin Tommy who can’t even get himself out of the house let alone change a tire. How is his lazy ass more of a man if he wouldn't have been able to do it any way? Had I been alone, I would have fixed my tire myself and that would have been that. I know I can do it. Jen wanted to know that if she were alone she could do it.If I could do that little to make my friend happy, why shouldn't I? I have never identified myself as a feminist and neither had Jen but in arguing an justifying our actions we understood feminism. I had always been taught that my peers were my equals no matter what gender they were. Yet suddenly because I had a Y chromosome I was supposed to be better at fixing cars, despite us both have equal experience and affinity for the mechanical field. Some how because of the social roles that neither of us chose I was supposed to be better at something, or step up and do something. Which as you will recall I did step up to do. I was supposed to do it all even if someone offered help. I guarantee if Jen had been a guy no one would have given a shit of he helped me out. If Jen were a guy I would have been off the hook. I’m not sure how that’s fair to either of us. We were both equally capable. Equally willing. And raised to think of each other as equals. And I was somehow less of a man for letting an equal help me.