The tone, that was the thing. The high-hat classist talking-down-to, as though I was stupid. Not a human, but a mailman. Something for a dog to bite, a punch line. And so she spat out words that tore into me, pulling me down to the ground. Words to make me hurt. To make me small. What I would have liked to do is take my pepper spray and give it to her right in the eyes. I’ve thought many times over the years since about how good it would have felt to send a long jet of caustic chemicals into the mucosa of her nose and listen to her howl.
