The Dead Woman on the Sidewalk

While rolling my empty hand trolley on the way to Aldi, a grocery store, I happened across a dead or dying woman, “she/her”, on the sidewalk. It was Saturday morning, March 20th, at about 9 am. She/her was motionless, lying on she/her left side, curled in the fetal position as if asleep. An empty wheelchair was inches away. We were alone, just across the street from the Baylor hospital emergency room entrance. The often busy street was quiet, as was the nearby fountain a few meters ahead, and the waterfall a few meters back.

My first instinct as a man was to render some sort of chivalric succor to this damsel in distress but the epoch of chivalry is now gone, replaced by the epoch of wokeness, and thus, I knew it was incumbent upon me to check my privilege before acting.

Could I try to rouse she/her by asking she/her if she/her was okay? Under feminism, that would be catcalling, especially since we were on a sidewalk. Catcalling is a crime under woke rules, so I remained silent.

If I couldn’t speak to she/her, could I at least look to evaluate she/her’s plight? Again, I had to check my privilege – during chivalry, I would have examined her for life signs and injury but feminism has taught me to quickly avert my eyes to minimize the chance of harm to she/her from my toxic male gaze.

How about touching or shaking her slightly to try to return her to consciousness? Also a negative – touching a woman without her enthusiastic, ongoing, and explicit consent is a big no-no under wokeness. If I dared to give her CPR, that would be a clear sex crime since she/her was a she/her and not a man. Ironically, touching a white or Asian man even more forcefully than is common with CPR is totally cool under wokeness.

How about telephoning 911 for help? A group known as BLM (“Black Lives Matter”) teaches that summoning authorities puts minorities under heightened risk and I was unsure if she/her was a minority. In any case, calling the cops was passé.

Finally, I hit upon a plan – I would cross the street to the E.R. and ask for help. But then I remembered – she/her was not wearing a mask, and wokeness requires masks be worn in public.

There was nothing I could do.

After this momentary consideration, I continued on my way to the store, wistful at leaving she/her to find she/her full potential in this new world of equity. After completing my grocery run, I passed back by that way about 90 minutes later. Four policemen were milling about wrapping things up. I slowed as I walked through the scene but I did not ask about she/her’s fate since that would violate she/her’s privacy.

My trolley was now overflowing with goodies; one policeman remarked about my Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups and my Dallas Blonde beer as I passed by. I quipped, “yes, I am a man of excellent taste.”

We all had a good laugh at that.

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