Don’t call me baby!

What is it with car guards? Specifically the ones who “guard” cars for little over a minute and then expect reward, when, honestly, you’re less than 3 meters away from your car for even fewer minutes?

This evening I popped into Kung-Fu Kitchen (another mayorship, @tanyakovarsky!) to pick up the sushi we’d pre-ordered from Queenie at the Parktown North restaurant. I parked RIGHT IN FRONT (seriously, I couldn’t have been closer if I’d tried) of the doors and hopped out of Dave’s car. While I was parking, I’d noticed the “car guard” approach the car in order to help me park. Now, while I may be (box) blonde and a woman, I can assure you I require ZERO assistance when it comes to parking, or anything else driving-related. Anyway, I hopped out and immediately the “car guard” is on my case. “I’m here for you baby”, he shouted after me, as I walked through the door to Queenie’s house of AMAZING salmon roses, literally 4 steps away from my car. “Don’t worry, blondey!” he called. Baby? Blondey? Let’s just say I was a little peeved. Within minutes, I’d picked up and paid for our dinner and made my way back out to the car to pop the sushi onto the passenger seat before nipping into the corner cafe to get bread and milk. Obviously, the “car guard” saw me walk out and was on my tail, ready to “help” me out of my parking spot. I gave him an evil, turned on my heel and walked up to the shop. He yelled after me, “Don’t be cross my baby!” Can you say, “Crossing the line”?

I stormed around the store, grabbing and paying for our necessities and walked back out to the car. There he was again, this time with a pitiful look on his face, like he felt sorry for me. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll help …” but that’s where I stopped him. “I don’t NEED your help. I’m not your BABY and I don’t appreciate you yelling after I’ve walked away. I’m not your blondey or your baby and I DON’T NEED YOUR HELP!” I climbed into the car, with an old white guy sitting in the yellow Citi Golf next to me with eyes like saucers. I felt shaken, locked my door and when I felt safe, gave the “car guard” a death stare. WTF?!

What makes a man, regardless of colour, stature or age, feel the need to harass a woman in such a manner? He would NEVER have spoken to me like that if both Dave and I had been there together. The same moron has made me feel uneasy when I’ve fetched sushi while Luca was with me. This is a little spot, a few blocks from my home. Why should I feel like this? Listen, I must also include that I don’t mind car guards, when they provide an actual service and treat me with a little human decency. But this dude was just asking for it.

I think I need to either attend some self-defense lessons or buy a mace-gun. Maybe both. Either way, DO NOT call me baby.

4 thoughts on “Don’t call me baby!

  1. Argh! I HATE THIS! HATE IT! I generally avoid them all. I
    have had them open the car doors to “help” put groceries in – I
    really dont like strangers that close in my space! Well done for
    standing up to him!

    • I know! I really don’t mind friendly, polite ones though, especially when I do actually need help (like when I’m trying to maneuver a FULL trolley and control Luca!) and who treat me like q human being.

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