While I typically respond to this with a frigid lip curl and raised eyebrows, this phrase has really begun to warrant a swift kick to the face. Sir, the reason I look unhappy is not only because I have a bad case of resting bitch face, but because I have been whistled at, hollered at, and honked at and have only been walking for five minutes. Yes, I am wearing shorts, it is 85 degrees outside and I am walking four miles to my destination, but this kind of behavior has happened when I was wearing harem pants with unwashed hair, no makeup, and glasses. I, like many of us, am a target of your sexual harassment simply because I have that extra x chromosome. Being a girl already sucks, we don't need a bunch of perverts catcalling us on our way to work.
The Daily Show has recently done an excellent job highlighting this very same topic:
Not unlike my my Stupid Cupid stories, allow me to share some fairly recent acts of questionable male behavior.
The Licker
As in most cities, when you work in Pittsburgh you spend a lot of time in your car commuting. Normally any attention I get during this time comes from truck drivers perched high in their semis pulling their cord while we're stuck in a standstill. Occasionally an old guy in a Mercedes will slyly pull off his wedding ring, but very rarely is there any aggression on the road. Yet, a couple weeks ago as I was on my way home from a very long day of work I was confronted by who I warmly refer to as "that bald fuck in the minivan." Moving at a snail's pace in converging lanes of traffic, I stopped to let a van with it's turn signal into my lane. Since things weren't really going anywhere I smacked a little honk out of my steering wheel to let the vehicle know I was letting it pull ahead of me. Instead of pulling in front of me though, he honked back and made no movement. Alarmed, I turned to see why I was being honked at for being a considerate driver, and was met not with anger, but a smiling middle-aged guy waving at me. I awkwardly smiled back and tried to ignore him, but when I pulled forward, but he pulled up to stay side by side with me and honked again. He honked a third time and when I finally looked he had his face shoved against his window and was LICKING HIS LIPS at me. Having literally nowhere to go I just put my visor down and waited for traffic to pick up again. It was not until the cars behind him began honking that he put his tongue away and drove off.
The Reacher
Slightly less recently, I had a much worse encounter with a man at a quaint little venue known as McFadden's in Columbus. Those of you who went to Ohio State circa 2010 knows that this club was like a flame to the sleeziest of moths, but when you're not so...legally allowed to drink...you make do with the places at which you probably won't get arrested. Against my better judgement I continued to return to this venue because of cheap drinks and hot upperclassmen. That is, until one night when I was walking upstairs, glowing because my fake ID had worked again, when a heavyset thug who was standing on the landing reached clear up my skirt as I was walking by. My friends, who had no idea this had happened, where the palest I've ever seen them the moment I had reached back and punched this shithead in his fat fucking face. Bouncers flew to me from all directions, questioning my actions, panicking because they knew they shouldn't have let me in to begin with, and completely ignoring the fact that this guy was sexually violating women in their bar. They asked no further questions and although they seemed to believe me and allowed me to proceed to the bar, this man was not thrown out, but simply asked to relocate to the downstairs. I went home shortly after and never returned.
The Visitor
Living in New York City in a large apartment with a pullout couch, I tend to entertain a lot of visitors. While under any other circumstances I would lock my door at night, my apartment has a jack and jill bathroom which requires my guests to walk through my room to do their business, and as a good hostess, I allow them to do just that. For just one evening I had a friend and his roommate come stay with me, and though I had never met the roommate, I trusted my dear friend's judgement and accepted them both into my home. To be honest, I've made worse mistakes, but as a person who finds herself in MANY uncomfortable situations, this has to rank among the most uncomfortable.
After a wild day of drinking, these two gentlemen stumbled into my apartment in the middle of the night and pretty promptly passed out, but only a half hour passed before my door opened. Without fully waking, I could hear someone move from the living room, through my bedroom, into the bathroom, but never re-emerge. I ignored this. Unfortunately, I then I heard my light-sleeping roommate open her door and walk into the bathroom. My phone immediately lit up with a message from her saying "I think your friend is lost in the bathroom." With very little motivation to do so, I pulled myself out of bed and escorted my drunk guest back to the couch, then returned to sleep. A second time I heard the same routine: living room, my room, bathroom, nothing. I went to retrieve him and back to the couch he went. After a brief nap I heard a door open again. same story, but this time, he came back out...just not back into my room. The creak I heard was that of my roommate's door followed by an immediate flip of light switch that marked the moment when this drunk idiot had walked into her room instead of mine. This son of a bitch is lucky my roommate is so cool, because I probably would have stabbed a bitch if I had been in that situation. I later found out he had, upon realizing he wasn't where he was supposed to be, attempted to climb into bed with her nonetheless. She removed him to the living room where he belonged and locked her doors. Completely ashamed, I tried my damnedest to pretend like none of this was happening, but the fourth time he walked to the bathroom I turned all my lights on so there was no way he could get lost again. My plan worked and he came back into my room, but this time I had no hope of returning to slumber and was on my computer doing work. He realized I was awake, apologized, but then sat on the end of my bed telling me how drunk he was. I sympathized. Sure, three doors is an awful lot of doors to go through to get to a bathroom, even though they're all less than five feet apart and your'e an architect, but ok, you're drunk and I get it.
"Since you have your computer can you tell me how often the buses come that take me to the airport?"
Knowing he had a flight to catch in a few hours and dying to get him the hell out of my apartment I pulled up the M60 schedule to let him know when he should leave. At that moment he hauled himself from the foot of my bed and crawled up beside me. Thinking he was trying to look at the schedule himself I didn't say anything until all of a sudden he was holding me by the face trying to stick his tongue in my mouth. I slammed shut my computer first, then slammed him against the wall , then woke up my friend and told him this guy needed to be controlled. In a short amount of time he was out of my apartment and I was able to forgive his drunk behavior, but retrospectively realizing how not OK that was. Luckily he wasn't a very big guy and was completely obliterated, but it was eye opening to exactly how much in danger I could have been.
The Prowler
Two summers ago I was living with my parents in their lovely home in some lovely suburbs outside of Pittsburgh. Although this area is known for being clean and safe, we are an extremely paranoid family who takes a lot of time locking doors, double checking those doors are locked, then sleeping with scissors under our pillows 'just in case.' My mother and I have a bad habit of falling asleep in the tv room, but this night, unlike most, I had decided around 1230am it was time for us to go upstairs. I had work the next morning and was going to take a shower, but the moment I went to step of the sill, my dog began to bark. When Misty, who is the quietest, gentlest, mildest dog I've ever met starts barking late at night, we take that shit seriously. Thinking that a squirrel had found its way onto the deck, I put my clothes back on to investigate. Before I had even reached the first floor, my mother had run past me and was feverishly turning on all the lights and gathering kitchen knives to walk around with. Assuming she was being ridiculous I went straight to the source to see exactly what my sweet pooch was so worked up over. However, the moment I was about to cross the threshold into the tv room (which opens onto the porch) my father, who had been asleep but woken up upon hearing the barking, started screaming for me to call the police.
"Uhh...Hi. Someone just tried to...break into our home," I made up, not knowing what was happening as my dad sailed past me, shotgun in hand, running into the darkness. He had, as I soon discovered, looked out the window in time to see a man running down the stairs from our porch out into the yard. The cops arrived within moments and began questioning us. We each recapped our timeline, my mother declaring that it had to have been the cable guy who was in our house earlier coming back to rob us, while my father and I both knew that a guy in a white tshirt was not there to steal anything, but more likely to watch a 22yr old sleep. He shared his suspicions with police, explaining my typical routine and how anyone watching our house would have known how much time I spent in that room, but they weren't taken seriously. I know this because a second officer took me aside,
"Now I know you may not want to tell your mom or dad, but did you maybe have a friend try to come visit you tonight? Were you planning to sneak someone in or sneak out yourself?"
"Officer, I'm 22. I've graduated from college. I assure you I was not trying to sneak a boy into my house on a Tuesday while my parents were still awake and I have work the next morning."
I should note that my sass rarely gets me anywhere, but more importantly note that this officer of the law's first assumption was that it was the young girl was responsible for whatever incident had just occurred. I remember telling my sister who a few weeks later came home for a visit not to walk around in her sports bra in case someone was watching our house and was just as bad as them! I was telling my sister to cover her body in OUR OWN HOME because a cop made me feel like it was my fault that some fucking pervert was there to watch me sleep.
The Biker
This very same summer I was working as an intern for people I enjoyed working for. They were wonderful to me, putting me on projects I enjoyed, mentoring me whenever possible, and letting me work in the beautiful front room of our first floor office. It was in this room, however, where I was isolated from my coworkers and spent most of my time completely alone since the other employees were out and about for the better portion of the work day. This was hardly an issue except on days when the Biker came in. The Biker was in his late forties, divorced with two kids and deeply in debt, but also not an employee of our company. He, in fact, only rented the desk across from mine, would show up once a week for thirty minutes, brag about who he was taking to lunch or to golf, say something offensive to me and then leave. If anyone else was in the office there were almost no words exchanged, but if I was there by myself it was
"Stephanie, you look like you got some sun." "Thanks, actually I did." "Your bikini must be pretty tiny if I don't see any tan lines."
"I have a motorcycle if you ever want to go for a ride." "That's nice, but no thank you." "You don't even want to try on the helmet?" "No. Thanks." "But it's black, it would look pretty badass with your blonde hair." "I need to make a phone call."
"Does your boss make you wear pants?" "No?" "You should wear more skirts and shorts then."
"Stephanie, would you mind looking at this product I'm developing?" "I'm working." "Well maybe after work we can go get di..." "Let me see... right...I'm not an industrial designer. Good luck." Then this
which he slipped over the partition onto my desk because other people came back into the office. After choking back my vomit, I promptly asked to speak with him in the hall and told him it was inappropriate for him to make advances at me at work. The next day I spoke with boss, showed her the note, explained my response, and very firmly alerted her that there was no reciprocation on my part. Her reply was that his father was a friend of her family and she was doing him a favor by letting him keep his office there, that he was just an idiot and I shouldn't take anything he says seriously. Even though I was upset by this response I agreed that he was probably pretty harmless, but explained that if she had no intention of evicting him or relocating me from that office that if were ever alone together again I would leave work for that day, which she seemed to accept. After this discussion though, she apparently told my coworkers because the next day I was met with nothing but teasing about how I was being hit on and how it was the cost that came with being a pretty girl.
While these stories are funny and entirely true, I should not treat them so lightly. I am following suit by addressing serious issues with humor since I do not have the platform or the ability to adopt the necessary tone to treat this issue with the severity that it deserves. I use this blog as a way to entertain my friends with stories of people (or myself) being ridiculous human beings and do not, in any way, hope to perpetuate the careless attitude our society has toward these issues. I have had very close and dear friends sexually harassed and sexually assaulted by people they trusted. None of those criminals were ever brought to justice because these poor women felt in some way responsible for what had happened to them and did not take immediate action. It is horrifying to know that this can take place in this country. While the Daily Show parody is hilarious it is difficult for me to swallow because it is so painfully accurate of what every single girl goes through on a daily basis. I doubt that any of my readers are violent sexual predators, but dudes, quit being dicks. It is exhausting to hear you talk about my ass as though you've in some way earned the right to touch it. All the women in your life are sick of it. I want to wear my shorts and my high heels and allow myself to feel good without you assuming that I'm 'asking for it.' It's just outrageous.
But then...humor
#butseriously
