Will You Push Me Up The Hill, Baby Girl?

In the last twenty four hours, my neighborhood has needed me in strange ways.

Last night around 9pm I decided I needed a Sprite and onion rings. I drove a few blocks from my house to a fast food joint (yes, evil, but still). There was a young man and his teenage friend standing at the order speaker. They stepped away, and the young man asked me if I could order for him, he'd give me his money, because the interior was closed and the drive through wouldn't serve him if he wasn't in a car. I said sure. Seemed like an easy way to help a neighbor out. He ordered a burger and sprite for himself as well as 4 kids meals with apple juice. I pulled up to the window and he handed me his money through my window. He said he was getting some late dinner for his two kids and his babies' mother's two kids. He worked a day shift, she worked a night shift. The whole thing seemed benign and normal for a in-town city neighborhood. Once I finished handing him his juice boxes, he said, "Baby girl like you has got to be married." I said, "No, not married." He responded, "You gotta friend?" "Nope," I said, "no friend." He smiled, "You looking for a friend, baby girl? 'Cause I'm a good man. Not trifflin like the other brothers on Troost." No, I said to him nicely, I wasn't looking for a friend, but I was happy to help him out tonight.

This afternoon, I stopped by the Wild Oats to pick up some vegan burgers for Roommate and me. A man in a wheelchair, pretty scruffy and dirty, with both legs amputated at the knee asked if I could push him the three blocks up to the top of the hill. Sure, I said. So I pushed him up to the top of the very steep hill. Along the slow walk we chatted a bit. His speech was really slurred, and he wasn't making a whole lot of sense. "Hey," I thought to myself, "after I take my nighttime meds I get slurred speech, nonsense, and stumble around. Who am I to judge him?" He could be drunk or high or have brain damage or be whacked out on pain meds or be on some heavy anti-psychotics or any number of things. I tried hard to understand what he was saying. He got a big laugh when I said, "Damn straight its easy for folks in this neighborhood to not help you up the hill as the cruise up it in their 4-wheel drive SUVs!" When we got to the top of the hill, I shook his hand and said, "Well, sir, I hope you have a good weekend." He pulled me in for a half-hug, and proceeded to nuzzle his mouth into my neck, kissing me several times, thanking me and telling me he could "pay me back for being so sweet." I had to pretty forcefully push him away, at which time I smiled and told him to take care of himself.

Both seemed like such odd yet totally normal city moments. Helping out your neighbors when they need it. I don't have much of any money to give anyone, especially considering my new agency wide pay cut, but I can do what I can. Yet... there is something disturbing that each interaction turned into a sexual innuendo. Do men think they can have any piece of ass that offers them a kind word or gesture? Or do men, particularly those marginalized by race, ability, and/or socio-economic status, also feel the need to offer their sexuality in exchange for the goods and services they and their children need to survive, a desperate need and obligation known to women so acutely?