The Trouble with Women

Justifiable Rage

Line Jumping Leads to Head Thumping
CityNewsVlog - transcription

Toronto resident Samina Durell is in police custody this evening after what witnesses describe as an 'extreme case of road rage.' The incident occurred in the parking lot of a Starbucks located at Lakeshore and Leslie at approximately 4:30 pm. It is alleged that the 32-year-old kindergarten teacher, with no prior arrests or history of mental illness, used her Hyundai to ram into the back of a 'Tesla Air,' which, she later claimed, had cut in front of her in the drive-thru queue. After causing significant damage to the luxury vehicle, she exited her own vehicle bearing an oversized metal flashlight, which she used to inflict further damage upon the other car. When the victim emerged from his vehicle and made an attempt to restrain Ms. Durell, she turned on him and hit him repeatedly with the metal flashlight. By the time onlookers stepped in, the victim was on the ground, having received multiple lacerations and, it was later determined, a serious fracture to the skull. Ms. Durell is said to have stood over the man, face spattered with the victim's blood, whispering, "that's what you get."

The victim could not be reached for comment as he is under sedation in intensive care at Toronto East General.

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Sexual Harassment on the Force
Toronto Star

In an unusual case of 'reverse' sexual harassment, Police Constable Jardine Charles, 31, has been suspended without pay while the force investigates what they're calling a 'clear cut case of sexual intimidation' inside 52nd Divison.

PC Charles, who currently works in administration at Division Headquarters, is charged with indecent assault on a male co-worker. Charles herself has reported ongoing sexual harassment in the workplace but had yet to have her claims taken seriously by TPS internal affairs.

According to a witness account, Jardine Charles aggressively cornered a junior male police officer in the breakroom, cupped his testicles through his uniform and muttered, "You know you want it."

A female co-worker intervened, pulling PC Charles' hand away from the distraught officer's groin and led her away from the scene.

On her way out, Jardine Charles reportedly made 'kissy noises' at the victim and winked at her female colleague.

A spokesperson for the Police Union insists this behaviour was 'out of character' for PC Charles. Internal Investigations has declined further comment at this time.

I LOOK UP from the stack of similar printouts in Becks' folder, confused.

"I don't get it. What is this?"

Becks tosses the remainder of the cocktail down her throat and raises her eyebrow.

"It's the start of something," she replies cryptically. Becks leans in closer to ensure we can't be overheard. "Cloak and dagger stuff, for sure, but hear me out. I've been following up on an anonymous tip."

It's my turn to raise an eyebrow.

"I know, sounds like a bad crime novel. But a week ago, I came back from lunch to find a note slipped under my keyboard. It implied..." she stops abruptly and snaps the folder closed as the barmaid approaches to remove her empty glass.

When the French woman is out of earshot again, Becks continues.

"The note said it would be worth looking into the recent spike in female-perpetrated crime. It said 'make the connection.'"

I encourage her to continue with a nod.

"Weird, right? Okay, so I do some digging around recent stories. There are about 60 news reports in there," she points to the folder. "And that's just some of what I found from the past 6 months. Accused are all women, all in their 30s and the crimes... well, there's something just a bit off about them. "

"How so?"

"They're..." she struggles to find the right word. "Man crimes."

"Man crimes?" I say with a smirk. "I wasn't aware there was such a thing."

"Maybe not individually. Do women lose their cool and lash out? Sure. Do they get their signals crossed and make a pass at the wrong guy? From time to time. Do they get road-ragey and smash up a car? Could happen. Stab a husband and his mistress to their gory death with a chef's knife when she finds them at it upstairs in the marital bed? I'd say that's unusual, but, hey, understandable. All of these crimes," she taps the folder again, "Individually, justifiable. But, look at them as connected, and you start to see something's way out of whack here. Women don't act like this in these numbers. Something's going on."

I pull the wasabi peas toward me and begin crunching my way through them. I feel nervous suddenly.

Becks watches me, waiting for a reaction. I lick my fingers thoughtfully.

"Okay, so, you're saying that women are going crazy and committing the kinds of crimes at the kind of rates we'd normally only see in males?"

I wish ardently for a glass of water now that I have wasabi burning through my sinuses, but it's clear Becks doesn't want the barmaid coming back, so I twitch my nose and let her keep going.

"That's exactly what I'm saying," she agrees. "And then, I started looking for the hidden 'why.'"

I consider the women I encounter through my social work. Most of them, mothers who are having their children taken away (or, in rare cases, restored to them). They're the saddest of creatures. Beaten down by life, addictions, unexamined scars that cause them to inflict harm on others. On their own children sometimes. Most of them are toxic to some degree, and all of them are heart-breaking by many degrees.

But very few are monsters. Not the kind of monster I know is out there.

Men, on the other hand. There are as many broken male souls as female. That's true. But their breaks are sharper, more jagged -- more likely to hurt an innocent bystander.

Under the table, I discreetly flick my left palm with my right forefinger— a centering technique taught to me by a long-ago therapist—a way to fend off the ugly feelings. I realize Becks is waiting for me to return to the conversation.

"Sorry, what do you think it is, Becks? What's the connection?"

She makes an indecipherable face — something between smugness and fear — then she leans back in her chair, nods at my old appointment card and says something I don't want to hear.

"It's just a theory for now, but I think it's the implant. It's not ageing well. All these women," she pushed the file folder full of news stories at me. "They have one thing in common: first wave. Like us."