A few hours ago, when I left my new apartment for dinner at Heritage India (Connecticut Ave), rain was escaping the night sky with such fury and speed, my golf umbrella was barely adequate and my mukluks were soaked. They are lined with sheepskin, which is now wet and disgusting. My toes are miserable. I’m barely cognizant of this though, because I’m on the phone, having the most important conversation of my day. I’m so involved with this voice, I barely notice the mile which I’ve walked uphill, the road I’ve made a right turn on, the periodic hordes of people on Adams Morgan’s 18th street, on this dead-because-it’s-wet-and-miserable night.
I should be at my new home, snuggled in my, um, Aerobed, but I have no internet access yet, so Tryst (a much-loved haunt of our Manish’s) has gone from third-place to first place in my life, for the moment. I don’t want to go inside and be the idiot on her cell phone though, so I’m hunched over my umbrella handle while I shiver mindlessly right outside the giant picture window, directly across from “my table“; practically on the sidewalk, it’s close to an electrical outlet and the perfect size for one. It’s also almost exactly where I sit when I’m at Greco. Some call me boring, I prefer consistent.
I’m in the middle of responding to a worrisome revelation when a group of frat-tastic retards lurches past, reeking of sweat and bad alcohol. I’m less vexed by such roving stupidity than some of my friends, mostly because unlike them, I was “Greek” and thus constantly around similar. I turn away from them slightly as they stagger by, wishing Maisnon were here; one of the last times we were together in the Morg, I was grabbed so violently, you could see marks the next day. Well before THAT sickening reminder of ickiness manifested itself in my flesh, our girl became Our Lady of Terrifying Rage. Approximately two minutes after Filthy McNastyman’s fingers defiled my arm, she accosted the pulayadi mon who startled and then offended me. “You do NOT do that”, she ranted, right in his face, as his innards liquefied in the face of her wrath. Ah, good times. But why was I thinking these thoughts? I had no need for such big guns. Nothing was going to happen to me…
“Jewugingglut”
Wait, what? Immediately, I hit a mental rewind even as I strained to listen to the voice currently inhabiting my cell-phone. WAIT. OMG. No. He. Didn’t. I dropped the phone right then from ear to hip and shouted in to the bastardÂ’s wake.
“What the hell did you just say to me??”
He turned back, the look on his face scaring me so much I think I whimpered for Deepa, my Mom and/or my ferocious, late German Shepherd Rani. “I saaaaid, YOU FUCKING SLUT.” This opportunity I had given him to repeat misogynistic filth tickled his friends to no end; they laughed so hard at his courage and genius that they were choking. Two of them slapped him on the back. Oh yeah. You showed me!
The toxic disrespect in his eyes had made my blood go cold, now I felt like I was being microwaved. Shaking replaced shivering, livid indignation supplanting any discomfort with weather. Without pondering or hesitating, I yelled back a suggestion for what he could do with himself, but I felt impotent, despite it. It was painful. If I hadn’t said anything, I would’ve felt steamrolled by him and undone by regret; I did say something and what came next made it all so much worse.
“Fuck that slut.”
“Nah, man. She’s Indian. They’re not sluts.”
“You would know.”
“Hey did that bitch taste like curry when you ate her?”
I obviously don’t know what sort of taste had been left in his mouth at the past point these Neanderthals were referencing, but I knew what the acrid sensation in my mouth meant.
“What just happened? Whom were you shouting at? Where are you? Is it safe?”
“Some guy…just called me “slut”. Twice. I didn’t feel like accepting it, soÂ…anyway I’m in Adams Morgan, in front of Tryst. And no, in some ways I do not feel safe.”
“Some stranger just walked by and called you such a name?”
“Yeah. This day gets better by the MINUTE. I hate this neighborhood. Or, more accurately, the type of entirely-challenged jackass it attracts.”
I try and remind the person IÂ’m conversing with what we were talking about, because they had been in the middle of relating something important; I barely manage to do this effectively. I can’t stop considering pepper spray. Or German Shepherds.
Words flow again via a battered Sprint Samsung and mercifully, within seconds, I am immersed. I am not thinking of racist assholes or how they hate my gender. I am listening too mindfully for such torment. Which is why I don’t notice the man with dreads in the Coogi sweater who is suddenly in my face.
“Excuse me, sweetheart, I’m not tryin’ to bother you, but what’s your name?”
I shake my head and smile politely, pointing to my cellphone with the hand which can barely balance my massive umbrella. I stupidly assume he’ll understand that I am otherwise involved and move on…I want to close my eyes so I can better focus on the voice and the rather important words which I have to hear. It’s a no-win situation; this call HAS to occur RIGHT NOW, when it’s suddenly (and much to my surprise) least convenient for me. I resist the desire to let my eyelids fall because more men are headed my way and I’m starting to feel vulnerable. Can I get a hearty WTF? I’m not dressed up or done up. I can’t remember if I applied deodorant today, it’s been so hectic with errands, appointments and attempts at unpacking. I’m not polished, I’m drenched. And I’m not smiling, I’m frowning. What about ANY of that invites such stubborn attempts at interaction?
“Sweetheart. Sweetheart. I’m tryin’ to tawk to you.”
“I understand that, but I can’t talk right now, I’m really sorry.”
“Well, maybe you can just keep me warm under that big ole umbrella of yours.” He moves in closer as he says this, until he’s touching me. I’m slightly cornered and I instantly want to bolt.
“I’m sorry, I’m not interested. I’m on the phone. WITH MY BF.”
Blatant lie, but so is the apology. May I please have another order of WTF? Why am I the one saying “sorry”?
“Well, tell your man that I ain’t tryin’ to fuck ya, I’m just attemptin’ to holla at his girl.”
More laughter from the pea-brained gallery and the voice on the other end is concomitantly appalled and concerned about my location and my odds.
I’m about to state a definitive “leave me alone” when just as quickly as Coogi and Co. came, they’re off. The sigh I heave is so audible, it freaks out a random dog being walked four feet away.
“I’m fine, wait, what was I saying? No, wait, what were YOU saying? I’m so sorry about this…”
“Excuse me miss, can you keep me dry?”
OH MY GOD. WHY? WHY!
“No. No, I cannot keep you dry. Please go away, I am on the phone.”
“I ain’t tryin’ to hurt you, I’m just tryin’ to get under that umbrella.”
I want to heave this luxurious, sturdy behemoth in to the nearest public trash can. Or pretend it’s a spear and lob it through a neck, any neck of any man who has harassed me in the last 20 minutes.
“I’m talking to my boyfriend. I just want to talk to my boyfriend. Please leave me alone. It’s not even really raining anymore.”
I have no idea why I toss in that last bit of dilettante meteorology or more relevantly, why this umbrella has been the instrument of my doom and then–
“Your boyfriend, huh? What is he, white?”
“I don’t see how this is any of your business, but my (entirely non-existant) boyfriend is Indian.”
“What you couldn’t find an Ethiopian? Bitch.”
I can’t win.
Did I actually, stupidly complain about invisibility last week? I’m so sorry. No, really, this time, I am. If they canÂ’t see me, they canÂ’t say unpleasant things to me…right?
I’m not familiar with DC, but was this near the neighborhood I’ve seen lately where random well-to-do folks are being randomly mugged, assaulted, and killed? I know hindsight is 20/20, but I would have gone inside the place if I felt unsafe.
some people are perfect assholes anna…they prey on innocent, nice girls.
Hope you remain safe in the many more rainy days to come in NYC
Dude, I would have frickin’ raged! One of my biggest pet peeves is guys that seem to think that a woman in a public place is somehow obligated to engage in conversation/ be receptive to chat. And it sometimes seems if you are anything short of a stellar bitch on heels from the get-go, it’s an invitation. Aargh!
Yeah, I don’t miss that aspect of the Morgue at all.
This seems like an appropriate moment to send a shot out to The Blank Noise Project. Lots of psychos out there it seems.
You should have said “The Jerk store called and there …..”
Thats a Seinfeld reference by the way.
Nothing is as sad as a bunch of drunk frat guys egging each other on. It doesnt matter what is said, but it will be followed by high 5’s to each other and everyone saying “Your so fucking crazy bro!!”
Check out Holla Back as well. A N N A, consider submitting this to HollaBackDC.
maisnon beat me to it. I heard about Hollaback on NPR this past weekend. Although, when I think about it, I’m skeptical about its effectiveness because there’s scant law enforcement on street harassment, picture or no picture. But then again, I’m a dude.
Imagine if you did wear deodorant……. They probably wouldn’t have left you alone. Hopefully their foul comments won’t ruin what otherwise seemed like a neigbhorhood you enjoyed.
Maybe tasers are legal in DC? I think your right, they definitely wouldn’t have been so mouthy if you had a German Sheperd with you and were brandishing a taser or pepper spray.
Stay safe…
The point isn’t to prosecute (as you pointed out, the behaviour usually isn’t illegal.) Street harassers often seem to feel that they have a right to harass – like your (female) very presence in a public thoroughfare means that you should expect and accept being “hollered at.” Taking pics with your cameraphone (which many on HollaBack do) is, in a sense, indicating that there are consequences. In the right situations, I often talk back and the reactions are quite interesting. For example, I have found that construction workers are often embarassed if you walk up to the fence and ask them to repeat themselves, etc. etc.
From HollaBack’s FAQ:
I am so pissed right now I cant tell you, been in a situation where person with whom I was on phone with had a somewhat similar incidence, feel as helpless today as I did that day.
maisnon,
mais oui. I suppose shaming in various forms is the only safe retaliation. Sacre bleu.
Thanks for the warm and fuzzy memories, Anna. I’m thoroughly frustrated right now thinking about how many times versions of this scene has played out in my life. Right after it happens, I hate myself for not having a better reaction. Then I go home and fantasize about humiliating them in the worst possible ways. Then I feel bad for fantasizing about such abuse. Then it gets repressed, and we all know it’s downhill from there.
I’ve dealt with this many times. My best advice? You need to develop a nasty (temporary and able to turn on and off at will) attitude for when you get pushed. Being nice gets you somewhere half the time… the other half you need to verbally hit them where it hurts. They’ll call you all types of names, but they usually walk away defeated. Otherwise, I am not against calling the cops…
Sruti, I too always think of a great comeback… hours later. I usually just walk away wordlessly because these experiences usually infuriate me and ruin my mornng/afternoon/evening. I like Oneup’s suggestion for developing a temporary attitude. Mr. Pooja has urged me to take photos and post them on HollaBack; I haven’t yet.
A nice Diwali(or Christmas) present for Anna would be a pepper spray or taser. Maybe a baton.
I guess I feel the need to stick up for the neighborhood (because I live there), but its not all bad. I don’t like going down to 18th on thurs, fri, sat nights because of the frat-tastic element, but none of those people live there. The rest of the week, I feel perfectly comfortable as an Indian woman in the neighborhood.
So yeah, it sucks that this element fouls up an otherwise very inviting, very ethnically-diverse neighborhood, and makes people who are actually respectful of others feel uncomfortable.
This would be a wonderful Diwali/Christmas gift.
A N N A-
So sorry you had to go through that. I was harassed on a train in India when I was 15 and I never felt so disgusted in my life.
It sometimes feels like one of those dreams where you are trying to say something, but no words come out of your mouth.
Peace be with you girl. We understand.
Disgusting behaviour really.
It got me thinking last weekend, when this girl I was talking to at a party said that they were howled at, whistled at, honked at, at least 10 times within a 10 block walk in Georgetown. In her words, she felt like she was raped as many times. We are also hearing about recent crimes against innocent bystanders in this area, so please be watchful!
Ugh, that’s horrible Anna. So sorry you had to go through that experience. I would definitely get some pepper spray, if only to intimidate the a**holes to back off. I hope the memory of this night doesn’t attach itself to your great Tryst memories!
You’re not afraid they’ll get physical? I’m teeny tiny; I couldn’t take on a bunch of drunk bro-dogs even if I had mace.
That’s so true, exactly how I feel when I’ve been harassed by pigfaced assholes…
It’s the pack of those testosterone-overloaded, drunk guys and your sudden realisation of vulnerability that reminds ya why we still need feminism…
Also this is not meant to detract from the power and message of your piece… but just because I’m doing a Writing paper right now and v aware of this…is there an inconsistency in tense changes in the first bit?
Sorry Anna {{{huggs}}} I understand and feel your pain.
I really want to address this because after I heard the show on NPR I thought long and hard about this a long time. I’ve lived in NYC for 20 years and struggle with this on a daily basis. Often it doesn’t come in your face disgusting and offensive but rather sly on the DL and dirty, someone walking by and whispering something nasty or someone attempting to “innocently” block your path while you try to walk down the street. And the words are hurtful and disgusting but they leave you scarred and ruin your day.
I experience a lot of comments where I ignore them and keep walking and the guy will usually say “Well fuck you then bitch you ugly anyway.” And that brings me to the point of the above. It’s a power issue not as much as a “vigilanti” issue. Taking a picture of one of these assholes will not and does not stop them. It is more of a tactic to empower you as a woman. Secondly I am uncomfortable with recommending this to anyone because sometimes taking someone’s picture has consequences. You wouldn’t want a man to retaliate and further harrass/intimidate you. Hollering back only makes you go down to their level of existence and I’m not sure in the long run and from personal experience it really helps. It has left me feeling utterly violated and strained when I have to say something back.
Personally for me Construction workers are like priests and usually don’t say offensive stuff just unwelcome stuff. But the Black and Hispanic men in this city are downright disgusting. I hate to make this about race but after 20 years of living here I reserve the right to say this. This shit I’ve heard is so creative and so vile it makes you wonder what kind of animals raised these assholes. And worse are those that come upto you and forcefully want to talk to you, they won’t touch you but they keep walking next to you say shit to you and when you ignore them go off on a rantage of filth cursing you out for rejecting them.
I don’t know what the solution to this is where the fuck are the other civilized men when this shit happens? I don’t need a man to protect me but I certainly need him to take notice of what is happening with his own gender and do something about it. Why are more men not standing up and taking a stand against the assholes that stand on the corner of the street and say shit to every girl that walks by?
This is such a sore topic for me, sorry I’m all worked up over it and it’s early. I’ve ended up in altercations that led to the cops being called over the years and as I’ve gotten older I’ve calmed down but it doesn’t make it any less hurtful.
walking around with a pair of scissors labeled “Home Vasectomy Kit” couldnÂ’t hurt either….
I have anger-management issues, and I’m afraid that if someone tries to mug me, there’ll be blood. Mine or theirs, depending on how quick I can be, but there’ll be blood.
Obviously, I need to get out of this mindset. Rationally speaking, I know it’s not worth it: I can always cancel the credit cards, I never carry that much cash anyway, and nothing of sentimental value. Just hand over the stupid wallet, and let go the Jet-Li fantasies.
All of which is to say: I understand your fury. I detest any and all violations of my personal space.
But, in the clear light of day, nothing beats ignoring an idiot. Here we say “don’t feed the trolls,” and the same applies with real world assholes. Don’t give them the satisfaction of troubling you. My guess is that most of them don’t want to do physical harm– what they want is interaction. Some people are so starved of intimacy that they’ll settle for the abuse you might throw their way.
Deny them that, you’ll have the upper hand. Yes, they’ll probably insult you some more, but they’ll leave disatisfied.
Keep cool, Queen of Sheba, and stay safe.
(I need to take my own advice too!)
Yes, it’s the easiest thing to do (and what I do 100% of the time), but it doesn’t give this girl a sense of satisfaction.
It has nothing to do with interaction or intimacy; it’s about asserting their power/privilage because they CAN. I actually think most street-harassers don’t expect interaction; they expect to be ignored.
Oh I agree, Pooja. Much the same is true, in a way, of porn. But monkey-mind persuades itself that it’s connected to intimacy and interaction. In reality, as you say, it’s a power issue.
That’s why the asshole bothering a woman in public never says, “I did it because I was a jerk” but instead “I did it because she was beautiful.” And that’s why he acts surprised (he often genuinely is!) that she doesn’t turn round and play the game, or act flattered, or tell him her name etc. “What, I can’t tell a woman she looks nice?” etc.
Clueless, and it isn’t the woman’s duty to give him a clue.
NPR did a recent podcast on Holla Back NYC
Dude, leave us out of it. It’s you guys who are the mutants, not us.
Oh, and no offence to Rajni or any other macaques is intended in my last comment. “Monkey-mind” is a Buddhist expression for the baser human urges.
Fair, but whose duty is it to give these jerks a clue?
Rajni you beat me to it. Time stamp on our comments is identical!
Everybody, in all possible ways. But not you at that time in that place. That’s the big exception.
But if you’re in a work environment and guys are “being guys,” if the situation is right, say something. If I’m around family and some Neanderthal uncle shoots off his mouth, if the situation is right, I’ll say something. All kinds of opportunities.
But it’s not your job to educate a drunk Guido at the busstop. Not because he doesn’t need educating, but because the personal cost to you isn’t worth it.
I speak as a man, and I beg your indulgence if I fail to understand fully.
ANNA, I am very sorry to hear this happened to you.
This sort of thing still happens to women in some parts of India too, even reasonable-sized cities.
I did both my undergraduate and postgraduate degrees at colleges in London which had absolutely huge South Asian student populations. Whenever a desi girl was harassed in this way, a typical response was for a bunch of her male desi friends (and/or brothers and cousins, if available) to pay a visit to the offending parties — if they could identify them — and threaten to beat the crap out of them if they tried to pull that kind of stunt again. Some people would of course apply some remedial discipline right there. The same thing would happen if a desi guy had been on the receiving end of racial harassment from anyone.
The risk of about a dozen solid-steel karas rapidly aimed in the direction of the jerk’s face was usually sufficient to solve the problem.
However, Mr Kobayashi’s advice about how to deal with this in a work or social setting would be more appropriate in those particular scenarios.
My co-worker was harrassed last week while standing in a line at the DMV…at the FREAKIN DMV! An older looking man started whispering in her ear “hey, you gotta nice ass”. She just lost it and started screaming “get away from you fin fk”. The security guard came over and then she pressed charges. Obviously she was shaken up when she got back to work and told us her ordeal.
Part of responding (or not responding) is the message you are sending yourself. When I say something, or take someone on – it’s in a situation I feel is fairly safe (i.e. the middle of H&M – not joking!, construction workers on Wilson Blvd in Arlington next to my law school at 1 pm, etc. etc.) I could be wrong, of course. The reason I do it is partly for them, a la my earlier comment – but mostly it’s for me. It’s so that I don’t have the yucky powerless, “I shoulda said …”, “I can’t believe that guy thought he could say…” feeling.
I’ve been silent about street harassment most of my life (because, of course, that’s how most women are raised.) Speaking up one out of a hundred, possibly one out of a thousand incidents has made me feel more empowered.
Who’s job is it to educate? I don’t think it is mine. I would love to see more guys telling their guy friends that it is not cool instead of what I do see – that a certain brand of harassment comes from guys in groups.
Important concern, Shruti. The most important thing for prevention is not how prepared you are to retaliate, but how prepared the harrasser thinks you are. This naturally places all women, smaller people, brownz/asians(from the stereotype) in a position of having to deal with this more often. A big man too might be very unwilling to retaliate when harrassed by an unruly bunch, but no one would ever know because people wouldn’t bother him in the first place.
Unless it’s the same asshole bothering you repeatedly, in which case, punishment (mace, taser) would help. But so would the cop anyway in that case.
Strength to you all.
Maisnon, you’re right.
That’s exactly the limitation I face as a guy trying to think through these things. My point of view is too theoretical. A woman’s practical experience says, “Talking back sometimes makes me feel powerful.” And who am I to dispute that?
Anna – thats the worst feeling that one can have. you should probably avoid those assholes..and not entertain any of their slurs.
I’ve had similar instances (just replace ‘sexual slurs’ with ‘racial slurs’)…all alone 2am in the night! Initially I used to reply back..and sometimes even try to explain that I’m not a “Taliban” or an “Arab”. The best way to deal with such morons is to discourage them by politely refusing them once..and subsequently ignoring them altogether. I realize that there are lot more things to consider if the slurs are sexual in nature (as opposed to the racial ones).
Or just saying something, anything when the harassment is so blatent. As JoaT said, “I don’t need a man to protect me but I certainly need him to take notice of what is happening with his own gender and do something about it.” I was recently harassed (lewd comments) in a workplace cafeteria by one of the food handlers. I was in line with a group of men all of whom heard what the man who was preparing my lasagna was saying. Not a peep from one of them. I reported the cafeteria worker to human resources (which as Mr. K. said, it the right thing to do in this situation), but wouldn’t it have been nice if the well-dressed young man behind me had said something, too?
A lot of these greasy m.f.’s think they’re doing you a favor by hitting on you. What? You’re not flattered? Some guy that was ‘tawking’ to me on the street once tried to persuade me by finally sharing that he liked ‘heavy women’. Ok, so you’re greasy, keeping me from going where I have to go, now you’re calling me heavy, and you think that’s going to make me have some sort of epiphany that you might be the guy for me? Yeah…. sala.
But for a lot of guys, it’s also a numbers game. It’s a low risk investment of not more than a minute or two. If they shoutout five girls randomly on the street, and even one responds positively – that’s still one girl who their weak game has worked on. Who cares about the other four? They didn’t know them anyways. So why not holler at any women you’d be willing to sleep with? But it sucks because they’ve only wasted a few seconds or minutes – and you’ve been left feeling icky.
In a crowded train situation where someone is trying to rub up on you and I’ve lost track of how many times it’s actually been a middle aged desi uncle, I’ve learnt that to speak up, look the person in the eye and ask the person to stop is sufficient. I proceed to usually embarrass them.
Gone are those days and as a direct result of being older that I put up with some fuck trying to cop a feel. I don’t think so. Words are one thing, the minute you touch me it’s all over. You could be a 500 lb gorilla this shortie is going to make you scream mama. If it’s a older man he usually will not be confrontational and back down or most of the time walk away from embarrassment.
Jai this isn’t a practical solution when it comes to a street thug and someone you don’t know.
several orders of WTF would have been rightly deserved! geez Anna… what a night!
i have had to comply to always being plus one whenever i’m in any downtown at night and always regret nights out with the girls alone. seriously having one guy there is usually enough to ward off most of the jacka$$e$!
mr kobayashi… thanks for your comment… we defn need more guys to help change attitudes.
and jai, i agree… my guy friends have definitely helped me get rid of some idiots or helped implant a hesitance to repeat that sort of behaviour again. you know what sucks though, is when that behaviour comes from a desi guy… for some reason the disrespect always feels greater.
But in general, about your experience, ANNA – it’s terrible that you had to deal with what you did, especially with the guy who tried to get up on you under your umbrella. Those kinds of guys are the worst – you tell him you have a BF (who is he to know otherwise) – and he continues to push up on you. Why? Because your ‘boyfriend’ is on the phone, and not there with you in person to defend you. So he thought that he had the freedom to do what he wanted. Those kinds of guys can respect/fear the strength of another man, but have no respect for women. So what if your fake-boyfriend wasn’t there? You didn’t want him under your goddamn umbrella, and he just figured there was nothing you could do about it, so he was going to do what he wished.
What an a-hole.
Jai Singh, it has reached epidemic purportions in North India.
When I did my college (11th, 12th) in Bombay, there was this guy who would follow me everywhere and I didn’t even know who he was!!! He freaked me out because he kind of looked underworld don-ish…big car (when most other kids didn’t have their own car), lots of money, so cheap and ugly and lots of ugly, boisterous friends.
He even knew when my birthay was and exactly where I lived! It was awful because of those awful stares and I kept feeling I would get kidnapped. One day I was waiting for my bus and I turned back and there he was. I felt so mad. I told my girlfriend “come with me, I am going to scream at this guy”. I shouted at him in front of everybody…calling him a creep and what not. And his reply in hindi was “sorry main english nahi bolta” (sorry I don’t speak English). I felt like an idiot. He DID look like he would not know english. Worst, I had practiced for this moment for ages. I knew what I was going to say and I said it with such fury and he didn’t even understand a word!
Anyways long story short, I reported him to my principal and the police and that nonsense stopped from the next day. It was really awful expereince and I hope it doesn’t happen to anyone else. In India I felt more vulnerable because of there are a lot of roadside romeos there. They follow you, make catwhistles etc … especially in Bombay. That changed me a lot because I stopped wearing small skirts or makeup. Even now, I almost always wear jeans and no makeup. Plus I used to take advantage of raksha bandhan. I would tie so many rakhis to creeps…it was funny. Plus in India if someone is being creepy, calling them “bhiya” (Brother) usually helps most of the time.
That part of DC used to nice and safe, but I guess not anymore. I feel both sorry and enraged reading the whole incident.
Ew, I remember getting cat-calls from the rickshawvalas when I was 6 years old and visiting!!
Pooja I hear you. And I’m shocked people behave this way. There was a UPS driver that I used to encounter in my old building all the time who’d say shit to you while you were on the elevator. It was forced interaction and I really resented it. Eventually I just reported him and just like that it stopped. But there would be other suits on the elevator and no one once said to him “Stop, you are being disrespectful.”
Unfortunately the following is also true and sometimes it doesn’t allow men the opportunity to say something. There is a guy who sells bags in front of my office building in midtown. I avoid him like the plague but he’ll say things if I’m even across the street. Things like “Baby you look so fine today”. “Wow mama you are smoking today.” It’s not disgusting but it’s NOT welcome. And it’s embarrassing because other coworkers are around me walking by in the morning or evening.
Often I’m with a friend who works down the block when I go to the subway and whenever he is with me the guy doesn’t even look my way. I’ve told the friend many times to watch out for him but he never says a peep when he’s with me, only when I’m alone. Which IS a power position thing and it really makes me angry. I really want to deal with it but unsure how to go about it. I’m open to suggestions. I want him to stop. Telling me I look nice everyday in a dirty way is NOT welcome. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear “Goodmorning sweetheart how you doin?” I don’t want to hear “You look so good in all over brown like a chocolate” (he said that yesterday) fuck stop saying shit to me and I want him to stop.
JOAT,
I know.
Possible solutions:
Many bullies will only pick on those they think are vulnerable. They will back off if their “target” isn’t afraid to retaliate, although it may sometimes require them getting a bloody nose (actual or metaphorical) for them to get the message.