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So i’m at this bar Lolita (should have KNOWN better) at broome and allen streets in the lower east side. i go downstairs to find the bathroom and see three guys in line so i ask the guy closest to me if it’s a co-ed bathroom so i don’t waste my time waiting for the men’s room. He turns around, flashes a cool-aid smile and says “yeah, it’s moving pretty fast though baby”. i think to myself, okay nice happy guy. Of course i barely had that thought in my head for two minutes when he took the opportunity to destroy it. he turns around again and says “you can come in with me if you spread ‘em!!”. Before I could register the extremely high disgust factor of what he just said, he started going on and on about how good his “aim” was, which no matter how you slice it or even if you understand it, is beyond disturbing. BUT, I let him keep going just so i had time to reach for my phone and fumbled around in the dark for the camera option so i could take this asshole’s picture. Then i told him “no thanks, i’ll wait the extra few minutes” and I was about to snap him when he laughed and said “you’re not taking my picture are you….is this for one of thoooooose websites”. What I should have said was “what websites? one SUCH AS the amazing hollabacknyc.com where you can post up absolutely revolting comments that expose people like you, with your face to take the credit?” but instead I only got the back of his head when he was going into the bathroom. But considering what his face looked like, he’s lucky this is the shot going up.
Posted by Jennifer
First, I’m SO glad to see a site like this! I hate being harassed, by men and women both. It’s degrading and insulting, and for me started when I was eight. But this one is about my first truly awful experience.
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// ]]>, by the time I realized what happened and turned around, I saw the son of a bitch walking away.
i’m an american who recently moved to tallinn, estonia. i was surprised to find that it’s rare for men to harass women on the street here. apparently, this does not apply in bars. my friend and i were at the counter ordering our drinks when a man seated at a nearby table reached out and grabbed my friend’s ass. she was in shock so i turned around and said, “hey, that’s not cool” then addressed his friends (the guy was trashed) “please control your friend.” we turn back to the bar and drunk guy makes like he’s going for attempt #2 so i turn around and say in a slightly more direct tone, “back off!” as we’re paying for our drinks, drunk guy grabs my friend’s ass again! i’m not in the mood for negotiations at this point so i turn around and yell, “keep your fucking hands off her, asshole!” and to his friends i say, “control your fucking friend.” in response, drunk guy tries to say something and stand but winds up just falling backwards in his chair. we take this as our cue to grab our drinks and go. bastard.
written by trudee.
So, Toronto is the setting of this disturbing story. I am sitting on the subway with a friend, minding my own business and nobody else’s. This guy on one of those motor wheelchairs comes on the train and stops right in the middle of the aisle in front of the doorway, facing me, and me facing another way so that he could see the profile of my face, not my whole face. So I’m talking, when my friend starts saying weird stuff, like ‘look at me’ and ‘wait, wait, stay like that,’ which really confused me. When the wheelchair guy finally drove past me and away (staring at me with a weird smile before he left,) my friend turned to me and told me that this guy just took a picture of me with his camera. I was in pure shock, because on the news there was a segment about men who go around taking pictures of females on subways… I hope it was a good picture though… Peace
written by Anya
I live in the crazy college town of Madison, WI. In preparation for Halloween, I took the bus to the mall and got some costume elements. I got off the bus on State Street, only to hear a male voice, “Hey, pink-hair girl!” (My hair is not, in fact, pink, it’s bright red.) But I stop and wait for the man to catch up (I can’t really remember what he looked like anymore) thinking that I had forgotten something on the bus. So he comes up to me and says, “I just wanted to say that I admired you.” Predictably, I’m like, “What for?” He says, “With all the diversity on that bus…you weren’t intimidated or anything.” I am not entirely sure what he means by this, especially since his explanation was far less concise than I have made it, but realize it’s a compliment and thank him, although I’ve started walking home by now and am getting vaguely worried at the way he’s following me. He asks if I’m in a hurry, and suddenly he becomes something more sinister than a guy with poor social skills. I tell him I have to go home and walk away very fast.
I followed all the biking rules, including the lesser known one meant for women, the one about not wearing a head set so you can hear the ensuing attacker hiding in bushes.
I should have forgotten that last tid bit and worn headphones anyway because of the constant harassment of whistling, honking horns, and many a suggestive, “Hey baby, ride that thing!”
I rode through lots of stop signs, red lights, and even on the wrong side of the street to avoid creeps who wanted to follow me and continue their harassment unabated.
When it became too much I started forsaking myself the (cough cough) safety of town for country roads.
The decision worked well, at first, there was plenty of peace and quiet, the beautiful landscape of farm country, no hooting and hollering or comments made about my getting it on with the bike.
Then I was hit by a car.
Fortunately, I didn’t end up road kill or smeared across a windshield, just thrown into a ditch. No major injuries, but I was pretty shook up.
The real icing on the cake was that the asshole didn’t even bother to stop, not even a glance in his rearview mirror!
I wish to this day I’d gotten the plate number instead of the back of his head forever seared into my memory.
This happened a little more than ten years ago and I’ve not ridden my bike since; unless you count a few loops in my driveway, and to this day my family believes I won’t ride my bike because of getting hit by a car.
Well, that’s one reason out of two!
Written by Beth
Thanks for the awesome picture Beth!
I spent my college years in Boston and had an apartment in Kenmore Square. I was coming home from my summer job as a hostess and began to wearily climb the steep steps from the T station up to the street. After the third or fourth step I heard the familiar sound of a polaroid camera –click-whirrrr. I whipped around in time to catch a textbook creepy-looking pervert pulling his camera back toward him after having stuck it under my mini-skirt to get a crotch shot. (I was wearing underwear, thank god.) He fled and I hurried the rest of the way up the stairs to relative safety. It was so disturbing and so close to where I lived that I felt I had to report the incident. I called the campus safety office and was asked to come in to go through a book of mug shots. Apparently, this guy was a bigger problem than I had originally thought. I don’t know if they ever caught him, but almost ten years later it still turns my stomach to think about those few seconds.
A similar thing happened when I was in Bangkok a couple of months ago–only this time I was descending a staircase to the street from an overpass, and there they were, two shifty, watery eyes aimed up my skirt and between my legs. He concentrating so hard on getting a good look, he didn’t even know I watched him the whole time!
Written by Andrea
Then, a crazy old hobo man passes by, and as he does, grabs my crotch and says, “Fucking cunt!”
I was too shocked to say or do anything. Moments after, it felt so unreal. Could that really have just happened, out in public?
He wasn’t in his right mind anyway, but god men can be such assholes!
written by Christine.
I turned around, saw the dude looking at me, and gave him the big, unmistakable
Yet, he persisted, mumbled, almost incoherently–even sheepishly– “I wanna lick your pussy. . . “
I held The Finger until I entered the store. Feeling relief, I carried forth on my mission, and obtained the necessary baking implement.
Upon payment, I wondered if said jerk-off reamined outside. He had, apparently, taken his spring rolls and split, but not without an extra-awesome serving of my finger.