Security in an insecure world 2

I don't know why it always happens to me. Maybe I smile too much? Maybe I am too nice? Maybe I just don't get the protocol right. But what is the protocol? I thought we were all supposed to treat one another with respect. Be kind. Be courteous. Be friendly. Just be human. Is that not the standard protocol?
It seems there is a different one for taxi drivers. No sooner had I fastened the seat belt than he mistook my thigh for the gear shift. I chose to be charitable. Shifted slightly to the right, out of arm's way. No. There the hand went again. This time it was accompanied by a wink and a smile. There was nowhere else to shift to. I can't sit in the back. I don't like looking like some corrupt government official, being driven to yet another shady meeting. Besides, I suffer from car sickness. Sitting in the helps! But the hand keeps following my thigh.

We chatted about the weather. The busy road. Exchanged notes about where we are from. He from Pakistan. He was just there on holiday. He asked me about the situation in my home country. We chatted about politics. About the world. I don't know how we veeered into sex? Somewhere between Heathrow and Walthamstow, he asked me, "So do you like......(moving his pelvis suggestively)?" I looked out into the London horizon. I kept a straight face. Kept my mouth shut. I jammed my MP3 into my ears, and put the volume as high as it could go.
We got to my destination. I thanked him. I grinned. I paid the full fare.
I am just too happy to see my friend, opening her front door.

Security in an insecure world

Come with me on a journey, as we go through this year's 16 days of Activism against violence against women. Safety. Security. Peace. All very critical for every woman, everywhere in the world. Do I feel secure? Always? Do you feel secure? What does security mean for you? That is the question we have to grapple with in this year's theme.
As I start this journey. I am in Ottawa. Canada. Apparently one of the safest places in the world. I arrived here a week ago. Two little chatty questions and I was let through by immigration. They didn't even stamp my passport. Is that normal? I don't know. But it made feel happy and unhassled. Very much the opposite of what I am made to feel in airports - frisked and undressed, even if I keep my hat on. No marines loitering all over the place. No military dudes with guns watching as I picked my bag.
On departure from London, nobody went through my baggage, asking me dozen questions about why I was going to Ottawa. No zap-zap machines peeking into my brookies.
Except....the flight attendant kept referring to "the commander". Is that what pilots are called nowadays? The only meaning I know of that word is not synonymous with safety, and relaxed flights.