Ammo Grrrll reconsiders A LUNATIC IN THE LIFT. She writes:
By now, as frequently happens with a weekly column, this is pretty old news. But it’s in my wheelhouse, so I thought I would weigh in. Besides, I’m still mad. Regular readers may think they have seen me mad before, but that was just warm-up. The Safe Space Dwellers want to talk about “triggers”? Consider me triggered. As my hero Mark Steyn says, “Stand well back!”
Straw – meet camel’s back. For far too long, we have caved like cheap card tables in the war against the Productive by the Pretend Oppressed, often for good reasons. We have been threatened with lawsuits, boycotts, loss of employment, and subjected to vicious ginned-up Twitter and Facebook attacks. First, the Professionally Offended always demand some kind of groveling apology. As I hope Kanye has learned, NEVER EVER APOLOGIZE. First, you have done nothing wrong. Second, it doesn’t ever work.
Groveling apologies have the same effect on left-wing bullies as liquor did revving up lynch mobs.
We need a new name for Social Justice Warriors, for sure. There is not one thing “just” about shouting down speakers, running around with masks breaking windows, or driving cake bakers out of business. The psycho ninnies attracted to such actions are also not very “social.” And they are the opposite of “warriors.” They are generally cowards and babies.
And so here are the facts: a gentleman named Richard Ned Lebow of King’s College, London was in a crowded elevator (“Lift” in Brit talk) at the San Francisco Hilton at an academic conference a couple of months ago. As buttons were being pushed for floors, from the back of the elevator, Mr. Lebow joked, “Ladies’ lingerie, please.” And a woman named Simona Sharoni said nothing in the elevator, but freaked out when she returned to her coven. And she did what any miserable, rage-aholic looking for attention would do under the circumstances – she consulted the Manual of Unauthorized Behavior and then fired off a letter to the association’s director, claiming to be “shaken,” though apparently not stirred.
Mr. Lebow certainly didn’t touch her, God forbid. He didn’t ask her to watch him shower. He didn’t carry a replica of her bloody severed head, which we were assured by our betters was a laugh riot. He didn’t ask a buddy to snap a photo of him pretending to grab her breasts. Nobody in the elevator was advised to “put some ice on that.” All he did was make a mild, completely harmless little joke to break the usual tension that almost everyone who isn’t insane experiences in a crowded elevator.
In the long forgotten Victorian Era, one had to refer to a chair or piano “leg” as a “limb.” The word “leg” was so triggering to Victorian ladies that they would have to lie down on a fainting couch. Today’s “strong,” “independent” feminists have brought us full circle to where hearing “ladies’ lingerie” is an occasion for virtual fainting. And then A Grievously and Perpetually Offended Woman has to run right off and tattle to Big Daddy Executive Director. That’s one tough cookie of a feminist! In the event of trouble, I want nobody on my team who is rendered limp and “shaken” by the words “ladies’ lingerie.” Or by any mere words.
This great feminist hero, possibly angling for a job on MSNBC, declared AFTER the first round of apologies by Mr. Lebow – which, of course, were inadequate and unacceptable — “I have dedicated my life to confronting sexism and I cannot and will not remain silent when misogyny is in play.” To which I, a not insane woman, would say: “Bite me.”
I would add: you are a humorless, wretched, petty, vindictive twit, looking for an occasion for self-aggrandizement and a “leg up” in whatever airless space you occupy. You are nothing more than an adult-like version of the same prissy little grade school tattletales who told Teacher of petty infractions that occurred while she was out of the room. Your ilk were the reason I spent a lot of time clapping erasers and sitting in the hall. You were always girls – why was that? Boys could be many annoying things, but they were rarely tattletales.
Ms. Sharoni: You get a lot of money to teach not one, but two, frivolous, unserious subjects that make my Sociology major look positively dignified – Women’s and now “Gender” Studies. My advice would be to go quietly about peddling your unscholarly, indoctrinating crap under the radar in the hopes that nobody really notices how useless you are and continues to give you a paycheck. But where’s the fun in that when you can torture a “white man” who mentions “ladies’ lingerie” in an elevator? There’s a better than even chance that you can take away his livelihood by pretending in the most disgustingly dishonest way that you were harmed somehow. And wouldn’t THAT be a feather in your tinfoil hat?!
Where were the other women in this tempest in a thimble? Did not even one defend Mr. Lebow? If not, you cowardly, bleating sheeple, we have nothing in common but lady bits.
For example, I am generally a happy person, looking for ways to amuse or uplift others. I enjoy every single part of my day, starting with my morning walk with the Paranoid Texan who makes many, many jokes, not one of which do I parse for “sexism” or “misogyny.” I laugh and see if I can top his joke or “riff” on it. Men who enjoy my company, without exception, LIKE women. Later, Mr. AG comes out of his man cave for a little brunch and we eat and joke together although, sometimes, I must confess, he does touch me. Oh, icky poo. Boy cooties! No, wait…I remember now: I LIKE both joking AND being touched. Because I am not insane.
Then I go into my office and write for a bit and surf the Net, hoping to stay upbeat and not read about people like Ms. Sharoni. I might read a mystery or go to the Tactical Range, or do some laundry or call my elderly Papa. Later, I might go out to a local diner with Mr. AG. If we find ourselves in an elevator, we always arrive at our floor without a nervous breakdown. Because we are not insane. In the evening, we might watch a Jason Statham action movie or an old sitcom episode or have a few friends in for drinks or go watch the Diamondbacks win. Then we read and snuggle in bed and rest up for the next day which we expect to enjoy just as much as the one we just spent. If it’s Tuesday, there’s poker!
See how that works? Happy! Just live and let live. As the Psalmist advises: “This is the day the Lord hath made. Let us rejoice and be GLAD in it.” The Psalmist said that because finding occasion to be glad, rather than professionally and perpetually offended, makes even a difficult life bearable. Also, he was not insane.