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Last Sunday, my boyfriend and I pulled up to the Shell station on Soquel Ave. after a relaxing day at Twin Lakes State Beach in Santa Cruz. He, in the driver’s seat, sat in the parked car while I stepped out to pump gas. As soon as I shut my door, I immediately heard “daaaaammmn, girl!” and lewd noises from a car parked diagonally across from us. I glared up at the two men standing there. When I made eye contact they burst into laughter, and I angrily shouted at them, “That was EXTREMELY disrespectful!” with all the fire and disapproval I could muster. One man looked up at me and shot back, “I didn’t say nothin.” They grinned and nudged each other and looked generally dismissive. I spent the next ten minutes absolutely seething: one, for the fact that they didn’t even appear to register any surprise or concern when I confronted them; two, for the fact that it made ME feel so vulnerable and angry; and three, that they had the nerve to harass me with my boyfriend sitting in the car! He only saw my angry outburst, and when he asked what happened, it took an enormous effort to not burst into tears while I recounted the story.
Just thinking about it makes my face feel hot all over again.
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