Jeff Bezos & The Male Ego

I am being stalked by my Amazon delivery driver.

Not stalked in the jumping out of bushes let’s contact the police kind of way (who do shit all about stalkers anyway – have a little read of Lily Allen’s experience here) but the kind of stalked where I feel very on edge every time my door bell rings and have stopped ordering packages – which is great for the environment but shit for my shopping addiction. It all started in the most Gen Z way which was an innocent conversation about Kombucha. I was drinking one the other day when I answered the door, and he said, “that looks nice!”. To be polite I offered him one – not thinking he’d take me up on it – but he did. He then informed me that his friend owns an alcoholic Kombucha company, and I should look it up on Instagram – which then led to him following me on Instagram. I followed him back, and this is how it all started. When he left the door after the initial conversation, to be fair, I was into it. Mysterious older Amazon delivery driver who turns up at my house to deliver an assortment of items each day ends up being my side prick (yesterday it was ingrown toenail cream – sexy).


But then the DMs began – “hey, I have a break from driving, fancy a walk?”, “hey no worries if you do not want to go for a walk, another time?”, “hey, let me introduce you to my friend who owns that brand?”, “hey no worries if you don’t want to go for a walk” – and so on. It is flattering for someone to find you attractive – but my Amazon driver who knows my address and is in my building every single day delivering random crap to my neighbours?! It was naïve of me to let him follow me on Instagram – but that is probably some deeply engrained nice girl shit where I cannot say no to strangers – like the time when an old woman on Oxford Street fully tripped me up and I profusely apologised (it left bruises for days). The second and most important issue here was my response. I sent one reply to this ordeal of messages before blocking him, which was “hey, so sorry, but I have a boyfriend – good luck with everything!”.


Why, time and time again, in response to creepy boys in bars, to boys who you are chatting to but do not want to take it further with, to your fucking delivery driver – do you need to validate the fact you’re not interested by saying you have a boyfriend? Why can’t women just say the word “no”. Because of the fragile male ego – men need to hear that you have a boyfriend, because they do not want to be infringing on another man’s property – they do not respect women enough to respect their boundaries but can only be willing to respect those of one of their equals. It is yet another aspect of deeply ingrained toxic masculinity which tells us that the male sense of pride must be protected against all costs. No, me not wanting to be with you is nothing to do with you – if it was not for my deep commitment to my big scary boyfriend, I’d be with you in a heartbeat! This breed of men need justification – it is inconsiderable to them that there might be any

other reason a woman does not want to date them.


(Disclaimer: this obviously does not apply to all men – before I get a picket line turning up at my door – lord

knows my Amazon delivery driver would share my address).

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