Irrationally Fearing My Internet Installation
I’ve lived in my current apartment for about a month now. This is only the second time both my roommate and I have rented, and the first time the internet wasn’t roped into the monthly rent. So naturally, being the fake-adult adults that we are, enlisted the help of our parents.
How do we set it up? Do we really have to call them? Which company is better? Should we rent a router? What’s this grey box in my closet do, and why is the red light blinking?
We had a lot of questions.
Turns out the grey box was our link to an internet company, so we hunkered down on the floor of my closet and made the daunting phone call that would reconnect us to the limitless world of the interwebs.
Though a tag-team of questions and answers, we scheduled our installation appointment. Apparently we still needed a router and someone had to come rewire everything correctly. That meant four more days without internet, but it wasn’t the end of the world.
As relieved as I was to not have to use campus wifi or my soak up my data with a hotspot anymore, I had to be the one present for the installation. The only one. Which, if you know me at all, is incredibly nervewracking.
Like most technology installations, they gave us a window. 8am-noon. Anytime between. I had a voice lesson at 11:30 and was praying the internet tech wouldn’t have to hear my warbling vocal warm-ups through the thin walls. But I also realized my roommate was in class that morning. This meant I would be home alone.
Instantly, I felt nervous. For all the normal, introvert reasons. Meeting a stranger, inviting them into your home, having to make small talk, not wanting to ask the wrong questions or not have the right answers. All of the above. And one more (kind of major) reason.
I, a female college student, would be home alone with the internet tech. Who, based on (admittedly inherently sexist) presumptions, may be a full grown man.
It’s easy to make jokes about my shyness and my inability to hold a conversation with adults when I hardly feel like an adult myself, but the overthinking part of my brain took off, heading straight into disaster-preparedness mode.
Should I be worried for my safety? What if something happens? Surely the internet company vets their employees, but what if they don’t? What if I let in the wrong person? What if they remember where I live and come back later? I could get kidnapped or harassed or murdered in my own home on a sunny Thursday morning.
I knew it was highly unlikely, but the possibility was still there.
As a precaution, I texted my boyfriend and my roommate as soon as I got the notification that the tech was on his way. I had gotten a phone call, and sure enough, it was the voice of a full-fledged man. Enough to make me nervous.
I’ll skip the suspense: the installation was uneventful. The guy was nice, didn’t make small talk like I had feared, and it was over in about twenty minutes. We now had internet, and he had gone on his way. All that irrational worry for nothing.
But then again, it wasn’t entirely irrational. I’m a young woman alone in her home. Compared with a cis white man my age, the worst case scenario isn’t as far off. If our college football-playing neighbors made that appointment, those fears probably wouldn’t have crossed their mind at all, regardless of whether or not they were introverted or had anxiety. They wouldn’t be worried for their safety.
I hate that it has to be like this. I don’t want to have to check under my car before I get in at night, have 911 pre-dialed when I’m walking alone in the dark, or send my Lyft information to a friend “just in case.” I’m tired of looking over my shoulder every 5 seconds or immediately tensing up the minute I see a guy running in my direction. I don’t want to be constantly worried about my safety. I don’t want to be scared during my internet installation.
But I am. And I still have to worry about those things when I shouldn’t have to. Now I’m not going to list all the ways society is miseducating by telling women to protect themselves instead of telling men not to harass or objectify women. And I won’t list all the things we could do to repair our culture to ensure this doesn’t happen. There are plenty of articles out there. I’m just going to do my part and hope that by the time I move out of this apartment and have to set up internet again, things will be a little better. Maybe I won’t be scared next time.
