Womanhood - the benefits of membership

I pride myself on being a progressive woman; I believe in choice in all its forms, from motherhood and career to gender roles, etc. There are moments, however, when I am glad that the rest of the world has not yet progressed fully.

This evening I got into my car and discovered that I had left my lights one, the result being a dead battery. DH was stuck somewhere in NoVA on the beltway, and the rest of the passengers from the MARC train had already left the parking lot. There was one lone soul waiting for a ride, so I went over to him and, in my most feminine (but not baby-like!!) voice, asked if he was waiting for someone, and if so whether that person might help me jump start my car.

"I gotta check if he's got cables," was the sullen reply. I replied that I had cables, I just needed the jump. "I don't know" he said. Clearly, there was no help coming from this friendly chap.

Next, I flagged down one a driving school car (the parking lot is frequently used by driving schools to teach kids how to parallel park). Unfortunately, the sign on the car said "Escuela de los driving" or some other Spanish thing that I don't know. He tried, God Bless Him, and we spoke in that strange communication style used by people who don't really understand each other. I didn't read the directions on the cables, he hooked them up to both positive and negative posts on my battery and his, and George (my 1995 Saturn with 175k miles) failed to revive.

After my friendly Spanish driving instructor left, I saw the NIST MARC shuttle van pull up. I skittered over to see whether he might help me. Again, in my most helpless, feminine voice, I asked if he could give me a jump start. He said "No problem" in a strangely feminine voice for a big black guy.

Once he pulled up beside my car, I asked him whether he had ever done this before. "Yeah, I've done this a million times." Now I should mention that he was driving one of those big 16 passenger vans, and I had just finished reading my little Saturn owner's guide book from the glove compartment, warning that I should only jump from a 12 volt battery otherwise I risk an explosion. I am very nervous about the whole electricity thing - really, I won't even use the phone near the bathtub (not that I think that that should happen anyway).

Anyway he went ahead and hooked up his battery, and then hooked the cables up to mine - again hooking up both cables to both battery posts. "I think that the instructions said to hook the negative cable up to a heavy metal part of the car" I warned. "Don't worry about it." he said, "go ahead and try to start the car." This while showers of sparks are coming from the negative post of my battery.

Now at this moment, I was really nervous that his much more powerful battery and that shower of sparks were going to cause an imminent explosion. I was scared to touch any metal part of my car (good thing Saturns are mostly plastic) and I barely pulled on my door handle. When I stuck the key in the ignition, I was convinced the whole car was going to explode.

After three grinding tries, George roared back to life - no explosion or anything. I'm not ashamed to admit that I jumped out of my car and yelled "Yeah! It started" like a little kid who just got a favorite gift at Christmas. The guy then laughed heartily at me (probably more from my silly fears than my jumping up and down) and went on his merry way - saying "Don't turn the car off until you get home."

Now, there are certain jobs that I do feel men must do without question: kill bugs, take out the trash, check out scary noises at night, and deal with car problems. I am glad that as a woman, I am not expected to do things like hook up battery cables and know how to jump start a car. And that men respond to a woman in distress (well, most men). The day feminism has gone to far is the day that I have to kill a bug, take out the trash, or am expected to know how to jump start my own car.