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I walk by this location twice a day on my way to and from work.
There is a group of bike couriers that hang out in front of the establishment, either inside the patio area or just outside of it. There are usually five or six men. I have worked a few blocks away for 6 years and these guys have been there, harassing women, for as much of that time as I can remember.
It is virtually impossible to walk past them without some sort of comment. The worst of the comments can be vulgar. “I want to break your little body.””Are your pants tight enough?” Other times the comments aren’t quite so vulgar. “Hey gorgeous.” “Hey baby.” But even just “how ya doin'” feels like an assault after knowing as you approach the spot you’re going to get some kind of comment.
I’ve considered changing my route. I’ve called the police a few times. Today I even spoke with the manager of a bakery nearby. He was extremely sympathetic and it turns out he has gone to great lengths to try to deal with this – asking them to leave, calling the police, obtaining some version of a restraining order against the worst of them, finding out who their employers are and calling to complain and then, when their employers were unhelpful, reporting them to the Better Business Bureau. He feels that there’s nothing he can do. I’m not sure either what more I can do.
Guy drove past in van, hollering and tooting his horn. I ignore and continue walking, eventually crossing the street. Then from the other side (the side I was on originally) he appeared again! Waving and tooting his horn. It was almost as if he’d turned around in order to harass me again.
Later I realised he’d been driving a Council vehicle! When I tweeted the council for an explanation I got nothing, just silence.
Beginning in November of 2009, I have been stalked by a man named Gerard (aka Jerry), who is a resident of a group home near my art gallery in Lambertville, NJ. When I began my business, he would stand in front of a nearby building and stare at me. I thought there was a bus stop there, but there wasn’t. He would stare at me every day. To me, he looked like anyone. I assumed he was a tourist.
By November of 2010, he was trying to talk to me outside of my shop. I had an exhibit of photographs, and he told me he related to the photo of a homeless man sleeping on a bench in Baltimore. He told me he was from Baltimore (which was untrue, I know the accent). I knew he wasn’t playing with a full deck by the way he was talking. He would speak low, but I wasn’t about to get closer to him. I just walked away from him.
In the spring of 2011, I was hanging a show, and he was watching me through the windows. I wasn’t sure who he was; I thought he was a real tourist. He told me he was from Connecticut. We had a few conversations, but then I started to get rid of him. After that, I started to put it all together.
He seemed to know my routine. I would open at 11, and then have a smoke at 11:30. I would see him make a beeline across the street, right to my shop, every day just about, with a half-smoked cigar in his mouth. It was getting on my nerves. I knew he wasn’t going to buy anything ever, and he was creepy and not good for business.
By the time of a popular street festival, I began commiserating about this guy with my fellow merchant/friend located on the next block. She also had been watched (and creeped out) by the same guy and at that point both of us had thrown him out of our respective businesses, for good.
I would occasionally see him around town. He tried to speak to me at a local eatery one time. I did not respond. When I told one of the employees that he made me nervous, she told me he was better than he had been. Apparently, he used to sit and stare at women in there, and laugh. They considered him a customer, and didn’t feel right kicking him out. Stopping in to see another gallerist in town, she had not been bothered by hi m, but told me he was always sitting on any of the benches on the street, staring at women.
At one point, on a busy Saturday afternoon, I was waiting to cross the street downtown, and he was making sure he was directly opposite me, moving to whatever corner I would be crossing, so I would HAVE to walk towards him. After several minutes of that, I went another way quickly, and lost him in the crowd. I took a circuitous route back to my shop, quite scared.
Lately, he’s been increasing his stalking of me. He has walked in front of my car, and even came very close to me as I was exiting the car. When he followed me into a local pizzeria and loomed over me at the register, that’s when I decided to talk to the police.
The police were very helpful, and took the matter seriously. The detective found him, and told him to leave me alone. If the creep sees me, he has been instructed to go the other way. Now if he follows me again, I’m supposed to call them and he will be arrested for harassment.
Let all of your friends know about what is happening to you. You’d be surprised at the support, and some of them might have been bothered by the very same person. And don’t be afraid to go to the police. They can help you, and it is good to get the creep onto their radar. Sometimes the police don’t know about a bad person.
It was a hot summer night, as it tends to be in NM, and I was waiting outside my work for my boyfriend to pick me up. As I was enjoying my iced chai, a man who was obviously very drunk, came up to me.
“where are you going?”
“Where’s that at?”
I smiled politely, and slowly began to back away. He followed suit.
“Wanna come home with me?”
“No. Please go away.”
He didn’t take no for an answer, and proceeded to get as close as he could.
“Sir go away please.”
“Because you are making me uncomfortable. Go away, or I will call the police.”
He got very angry and threatened to hurt me if I called. I panicked and took off my high heel and had it ready in my hand, yelling at him to leave me alone. He finally did, and walked away yelling that I was a dirty cunt and how it was the president’s fault he couldn’t solicit sluts like me. I cried when my boyfriend came, and ever since then, I’ve avoided that corner.
I had just got finished with my Zumba class and was waiting for the city bus. I was texting my boyfriend when a man came up to me and asked me if he could use my phone. I explained to him that the battery was almost dead, and I needed it. I apologized and continued texting. He then proceeded to move closer to me. I could smell that he hadn’t had a shower and had been drinking so I moved away from him. I asked him to kindly back away since he was invading my personal space. “Little bitch,” he cursed at me. I then had my phone ready with 911, prepared to press the button. “I outta rape your lil’ ass righ now!” I was terrified so I screamed and ran down the street. He fled before the cops could get there, and I didn’t get a good look at his face to report him. Either way, I was terrified and since then, have learned to be more assertive.
I was walking home from my boyfriends house on a Sunday afternoon at around 3pm. I was wearing a dress with a full skirt that fell just past my fingertips. As I was walking, a man sitting on the curb starting yelling out at me “Oh ballerina, little ballerina. Won’t you come sit on my lap. Come dance on my lap little ballerina.”
He got up and began to follow me. I quickly crossed to the opposite side of the street and, thankfully, he didn’t follow.
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Yesterday (5/22/12), I was waiting to cross the street around 7:30 pm. I was minding my own business, looking forward to a pleasant evening stroll on campus. Out of nowhere, this asshole in a green Toyota Tacoma drives by shouts out the window that he wants to do obscene things to my breasts. I won’t bother repeating what he said verbatim because it’s disgusting. It made me feel so angry and violated. It’s not the first time I’ve gotten stares or comments because I happen to be a big-chested girl. I wish he could have thought his actions through. I wonder what he would feel like if someone else did the same thing to his mother, sister, daughter, niece, girlfriend, etc.
In Romania there are a lot of harassment. Even in front of cops!In a day there was a girl which was a gipsy. A man called her many many many dirty words, followed by verbal attacks about gipsies. She ignored him, until he wanted to punch her. He started swearing about her mother, and how she is a gipsy. She gave him a punch. The people just watched. They didn’t care. I was shocked. The most offending part was that there was a guy who filmed it so he can put it on internet!
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.
I was in my art class at school and a few boys at my table were talking about later playing the “hey, girl!” game. I wasn’t exactly sure what that was, but I had a pretty good idea, and they were *kind* enough to explain that they drive around neighborhoods and, when passing a girl (or woman), yelling to them from the car as they drove by. I calmly explained to them that that qualifies as harassment and is not okay, but they seemed not to understand. I looked to some of the other girls at the table for help in backing this up, but all of them had awkwardly averted their eyes, trying to avoid conflict. I don’t know whether they listened to me. I don’t know if they continued to go out and verbally assault women from the safety of a moving car, or if they took to heart what I said. But thank you, girls in my class, for being afraid to hollaback, for failing to potentially prevent other women from being verbally assaulted.