It was July 2014, Nashville Tennessee. I was walking into a gas station for a bottle of water when the man behind me stepped up to open the door for me. With that act of kindness, something inside me snapped and I flew into a blind rage. I began screaming at him at the top of my lungs.
This latest admission of derangement is by Stacie Huckeba, a photographer and video-maker. She continues,
“No, you cannot open this door for me! You wouldn’t have opened it two years ago, so you damn sure can’t open it now!” I scowled and stormed away, completely enraged.
You see, he’s not allowed to do that, holding open the door for her – or for any woman, presumably. Because although Ms Huckeba didn’t know this polite gentleman and had never seen him before, she’s nevertheless sureof what his views on holding doors open for people must have been two years previously. It’s feminist science. And then, inadvertently, a punchline of sorts:
It was the third time that week that a man had done something polite for me.
Damn the patriarchy and all its works.
First a man had bought me a drink at a concert, and then there was the nice man who had helped me scoop up my groceries after I dropped my bag, and now this man with the door.
At this point, thankfully, Ms Huckeba offers an explanation, and justification, for her erratic, rather alarming mood swings:
Two years before this, in July 2012, I weighed 365lb,”