If you'd seen me open the door to the bathroom today, you would have thought nothing of it. Just another smiling college kid, working on your floor, fumbling with the keylock on the doorknob. Right? No biggie. You likely walked right past without a second thought, on your way to the elevator around the corner.
What you didn't see, however, but what you would have seen had you been able to look through the door, might have surprised you. You would have seen me close the door and sag against it, gripping the doorknob to keep it closed from the inside. You would have seen me crumple to the ground, tears spilling onto my cheeks, shaking, and on the verge of a panic attack.
It had been one of those mornings. The ones I dread, the ones that panic me, the ones I hate.... First, the corner store with mom, where I was, in succession: stripped bare and devoured by the gaze of two guys standing by the counter as they nudged each other and leered, startled and scared by another guy who'd snuck up behind me to make kissy noises in my ear, other various harassment, and finally, catcalled, whistled at, and called certain unprintable names as mom and I left and got into the car.
It didn't stop when I got into work, though. The guy who held the door eyed me with a "fuck, baby", and a nasty leer. Then, I got sent to the deli/newsstore where we get breakfast, and overheard the deli guy - who's been hitting on me for weeks, and who I told to stop last week - tell the lady who works with him, that if he was a millionaire, "I'd get out of here, and you know who I'd take with me?..I'd take her" (me). Sounds innocuous, right? You didn't see his face. You also haven't seen the way he looks at me on a regular basis, and you probably didn't know how much those looks scare me, either.
I made it back to work, only to realize that I had to go back to the store for creamer. So, I hid in the bathroom, fighting a panic attack, until I had composed myself enough to go, get the creamer, avoid the deli guy, and rush back to the safety of my office. And perhaps you will understand why, later that day, upon finding myself in an elevator with a stranger who looked at me funny, I glared at him, and informed him that, "you touch me, and I swear I'll kill you"...perhaps not the wisest course of action, but, hey.
Now, I wish I could say that this was a once-in-a-blue-moon kind of a thing that never happens, and is astonishing to me. But, if I'm honest, it happens. It happens a lot. Not always this degree in the course of a single morning, but, in the two and a half (or s0) months that I've been working there, I have yet to make a single errand run without at least one person hitting on me, catcalling me, or ogling and leering. And the events I've described are far from the worst that's ever happened.
And there's a pervading misconception which I've come across over the past few weeks and months, which is utterly and completely false.
Guys, hitting on someone is not a compliment.
Again. Say it with me.
Hitting. On. Someone. Is. Not. A. Compliment. Harassment. Is. Never. Okay.
Catcalling is not a compliment. Checking me out does not make me feel flattered. The guys who call me "slut" or "whore" or "cunt" or undress me with your eyes (yes, I can tell...) only make me loathe and fear them.
And any man who does that...actually, no. Scrap that. Because any male who catcalls a girl, ogles and leers at her, slaps her butt as she walks past, or anything else inappropriate is not a man. No true man would ever do that.... but anyone who does? I am fully convinced that that is a qualification for 'scum of the earth'.
I mean, imagine if the girl you were hitting on was your sister, your mother, your daughter. How would you feel about men looking at her the way you think it's okay to look at me? How would you feel about strangers calling her unspeakable names, touching her, following her around?
That is not flattering. It is violating. It is panic-inducing, and it is just wrong. It makes me feel vulnerable, violated, hurt, dirty, terrified, and it is oftentimes all I can do to keep from breaking into an all-out run to escape.
And it's not just me, either. Ask the girls you know. Heck, ask the LGBT kids you know! Most women know exactly what I'm talking about. I mean, for crying out loud, Uptown Funk, in real life, isn't cool. It's creepy! And no, it doesn't depend on the kind of clothes you're wearing. I am never, repeat, never asking for it. I have literally worn everything from long skirts to baggy pants to glasses and no makeup, and it still happens.
Street harassment is still a thing. And, it mostly happens to women. Good gosh, I don't walk up to you and be like "nice dick". You wouldn't walk up to another man, a total stranger, and tell him he has a nice dick. Yet somehow it's perfectly acceptable in your mind to leer at me and tell me my "ass" is "fuckable". What the actual heck!? You don't go around grabbing other guys' junk. So why's it okay to grab my butt? Or touch my chest? *hint: it's not*
Be a man! If you like me, be nice to me, hold doors (without slapping my butt as I walk through!)...there are other ways to give a compliment. If you think I'm pretty, then, for goodness' sake, man up and tell me in an un-offensive way. Otherwise, keep your mouth shut! If you like me, then tell me that, and, if I say no, respect me enough to take 'no' for an answer
I met an man last weekend, who intrigued me. An elderly gentleman, he entertained me for quite a bit with stories of his country upbringing. But one story in particular delighted me, hence his designation as a 'man' in my mind. He mentioned that he used to get into fights at the bar all the time as a young man, but, not for the reasons I'd thought.
In his words, "I'd see a guy hitting on a lady, and if she didn't want to be bothered, I'd go over, tap him on the shoulder, and say 'buddy, why don't you leave the lady alone, finish your drink and go on home?', and he'd want to know, 'well, who's gonna make me?', so I'd ask him 'You wanna mess up the bar, or should we go out in the parking lot?' and I wound up in a fair number of fights because of it".
Honestly, that's where it's at. With that one little anecdote, he just made himself my hero.
And I really wish there were more like him.
I mean, screw even respecting me as a woman.
How about just, at basic, respecting me as another human being?
Could we just get there? Because even that would be a huge accomplishment.
