Appalachian Ohio, Athens GA, Atlanta, Berkeley, Baltimore, Boston, Chicago, Cleveland, Columbia MO, Columbus, Des Moines, Durham & Chapel Hill, East Lansing, Fredericksburgh VA, Houston, Los Angeles, Muncie IN, New York City, NYU, Philadelphia, Pittsburgh, Plattsburgh, Richmond VA, San Francisco, Tucson, Twin Cities
Walking down 8th avenue in Park Slope I hear him mutter, “Nice, very nice. Sexy lady” as he stares me up and down. I whipped around and holla’ed “What did you say?” He took a pregnant pause, “You’re a good girl. A good girl.”
Then, I shit you not, he pulls this out of his pocket and hands it to me:
Written by Brianna.
My friend and I were waiting for a table a restaurant bar, chatting, as we so often do, about yacht rock, when we observed this repellent exhibit. He was giving us the Atomic Super-Leer, which is a leer that goes beyond Gross Ogle and crosses over into Aggressive Scrutiny, in terms of both perviness and duration (this one lasted a full five minutes). This dude’s leer was positively throbbing. A zombie-like sort of creepy entitlement oozed out of him, too, as though he didn’t realize he was actually out in public staring at actual humans rather than crouching in a fetishy sweat over his home computer porn-delivery system. At the same time, since it was obvious there was a porn flick playing in his tiny brain, he also conveyed a crushing sense of inferiority. Thanks, Jackass. May your quiet desperation cripple you for life.
Submitted by Twisty.
Yonge Street at Carlton in Toronto, Canada, April 21, 2006.
Jerk in a hideous blue Ferrari with yellow flames yells out “Hey! Can I fuck you up the ass! Not you, the other one!” while he’s stopped at a red light. About three women were crossing the street at the time, one of whom was holding hands with her daughter, who looked about 9 years old. I went up to this sleaze-bag (he hadn’t been yelling at me), and told him I thought what he said was really rude, and that there was a little girl crossing the street. I asked him: “Is that how you talk to little girls, too?” He started rambling about having me arrested (what?), to which I of course repsonded that I would write down his license plate number and have him charged with sexual harassment. I turned to walk away as the light changed, and he said “I like your ass!” So, I spit on his car, and he responded by spraying a wimpy bit of spit at me. What a pig.
Written by Daya.
Nice orange suit, dill-hole.
Submitted by Rachel.
Grad school, Eugene Oregon- cutting through the graveyard behind the library, trying to get back from class to chat the bus in time, so as to not have to pay my sitter extra. Wearing a backpack with probably 40 lbs of books in it. Bunch of frat boys knocking down 40s and sitting on gravestones, see me and start up with the catcalls. One of them pull down his sweats, and whips out his penis. “Betcha want some of _that_, doncha?” His buddies are laughing. I stopped looked at his penis, looked him in the face and said: “Isn’t that cute! Why, it’s just like a penis, only smaller!” and went on my way. No more catcalls, a couple of “Bitch…” as I passed them.
Submitted by Laura.
Submitted by Kay.
Last night I was coming home around midnight after a study marathon and having all kinds of fun experiences with leering guys on the subway. It was like “Creepy Man Stare at Lauri” Day or something. My outfit was eye-catching — a flowery dress that ended mid-thigh, tights, and corduroy jacket — but not immodest. Basically it showed off my legs. Anyway, I get off at my stop in Astoria and these two guys behind me start talking about rape. Now, I can’t be 100% sure about the exact content of their conversation, but it seemed that one of the guys was trying to convince the other guy that raping women was, you know, a bad thing. All the while, the avenue is barren. I’m getting a little bit concerned. “Why are they talking about this behind a woman who’s walking by herself at midnight?” I wondered. “That’s not so polite.”
When I got to my house, one of the guys yelled out, “I’ll get you next time.” Now, was he yelling to his friend, or to me? I don’t know. All I know is that now I feel even more threatened in my already leering-loving neighborhood, and will have to buy some mace. Great.
Astoria needs some serious street harrassment awareness training.