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Junk mail*

*(actually, it was a text)

By Gloria Diaz

Check out Gloria's Blog — Edge of Gloria!

Fort Wayne Reader

2016-08-23

Of course, after ranting last column about how women know how to dress to get attention, karma has bitten me in the ass.

If you missed it, I wrote a column about unwanted attention women get, and how sometimes, the clothes we wear invite it. I hardly ever get attention from men, but when I wear certain clothing items, I notice I get treated differently. I get compliments from women when I wear my little black dress, and sometimes looks from men. Or, unwanted hugs when I’m wearing my notorious University of Cincinnati t-shirt.

But this last episode is classic “where do I meet these people?” I wasn’t wearing anything provocative. The person in question couldn’t even see me. And, as usual, it came out of the blue.

I had issues with my car earlier this year. Through an Uber driver, I found out about a mechanic just starting out on his own. Super-reasonable prices, and honest. Not only that, the shop was close to my house. He managed to fix the problem I’d had with my Neon that had stumped two other shops in town, which were reputable places. He seemed like an okay guy. Professional.

My “new” car was having problems, so I took it over for an oil change, a radiator hose repair, and to fix the hatch. This would be the second time for the hatch.

Because I have two cars (a long time ago, I would have felt wealthy saying that, but not now) I went to Cedar Point for a very enjoyable, beautiful day. I got a text update from my mechanic on the car. That’s when the trouble started. He said his phone was sending pictures randomly, and he didn’t know why. He was trying to delete photos, but wrote that he hoped no weird pictures were being sent. I said I was used to getting weird shit from men.

And that’s when the pictures started. It was of a particular organ, but it certainly wasn’t a Wurlitzer. Technically, they were bad. I’m a photography geek, and no matter what the picture, I’ll pick out what I think is wrong with it. It could be a picture of the most handsome man in the world, but there I’ll be, trying to figure out what lighting was used, what looks natural, what doesn’t, and what was Photoshopped. Then, I’ll evaluate the attractiveness of the guy. It’s just how I am.

So I told the mechanic the photos weren’t technically great. I was deleting them, but he “accidentally” sent four of them. The last one had decent lighting and good focus. And there was no mistaking what it was a photo of.

And I wondered why I was the chosen recipient. Because this came from nowhere. I’d never flirted with this guy; I didn’t have any interest in this him. I was a repeat customer, because his prices were unbelievably good. But not anymore. I’m creeped out.
I talked about it on Facebook of course. I wanted to know if anyone knew of reliable mechanics who wouldn’t send me any pictures of their junk. I got lots of recommendations, which I was thankful for. But what really shocked me is that no one thought it was out of the ordinary. A couple people even laughed.
And it saddened me, but I guess with all the nonsense happening in the world, a picture of someone’s junk is nothing in the scheme of things.

It reminded me though, that it’s really hard to not paint certain groups of people with the same paintbrush, when you seem to run into those people time and again, and again, and again.

I called the police. When I asked him why people did this, the officer’s response was there was a lot of sick people in the world. He also said that he wasn’t blaming me, but when I had texted the mechanic that I was used to getting weird shit from men, that was like an invitation to this guy.

So yeah, maybe not all men are perverted weirdos, but from my perspective, they are. And I will treat them as such, until they prove themselves otherwise.

I had a chance for a great comeback, but of course, I was so shocked, I completely forgot. I need to stop being so nice and assume everyone is evil. I had taken a picture of a rooster at the Cedar Point farm in Frontiertown. I should have sent it to the mechanic and said, “mine’s bigger.”

Maybe next time.

For more self-indulgent mayhem and pictures, check out www.edgeofgloria.blogspot.com