Holy fucking mother of every deity that this planet can conjure up, WHY DO MEN SPIT?
Trying to navigate the 5km route between my place and my ex’s, avoiding public transport because it’s all coated with Covid-19 and panic, I realised that, even if I avoid crowded places and keep my child from the company of other small things, I still can’t keep him or myself shielded from the liquid landmines of slimy gob deposited along the walking path by possibly every man (or one extremely industrious one with fluid to spare) that has chosen to run or walk the same path as me.
I have seen a running woman spit one time, so I know that we do, but by and large, it’s been men, so I direct this question at them, mostly, because FUCK IT WHY IS IT A THING? I have also understood the plight of runners, their mouths dry from apparently being unable to hold them closed while running, but I have experimented with a bit of running of my own and found that the spit my body produced had no violent magnetic pull to the earth beneath. And, if I did produce excess liquid, it was no large matter to pull my body over to a less congested (haha) area and release the gob that wanted out.
This morning, having read about the dangers of being close to people who may breathe or sneeze or talk in my direction, a man walking toward me released his personal sputum onto the pedestrian crossing just in front of me and I would have dropped my jaw aghast if I wasn’t afraid of some of the splashback getting in my mouth and infecting me.
I have chided male friends for spitting wantonly in public, and I have seen some sneak off to do it in a less offensive area (hashtag notallmen), but just looking at the ground I walked this morning, all five fucking kilometers of path were just a tapestry of other people’s body fluid.
And so often it nearly hits me while I’m running or walking nearby and I swear to the scariest god I can find (are there any non-scary gods? Who is light on the smiting? Nvm, Imma go with the Catholic one that made all those demons that fuck me up while I’ve got sleep paralysis), I will bludgeon the first person from whom I feel any droplets on my skin, even if it’s just started to rain. I’m not taking chances. Elimination is the only solution now.
Or I might scoop up the gob from the sticky, animal-piss-stained tar and shove it back in their mouths while forcing them to dial their parents on the phone so I can shout at them about what terrible jobs they did.
Here’s a song for those assholes: