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A friend and I went to the Pratt art store (Clinton Hill) to buy canvas and there was a well dressed man standing right in the middle of the store. I needed help and he looked like he worked there.
me: Sir do you work here?
creep: No, but I still want to talk to you
me: No, thanks.
As I walk away he grabs my arm and starts caressing it!! I pulled away.
me: DON’T TOUCH ME!!
creep: Oh so it’s like that??!!
me: I dont like being touched by strangers!!
creep: Go back to where you came from!! Go back to f*cking Eastern Europe you b*tch, get the f*ck out of here.
(I am from Moscow but I have been here since I was 9 and have had my citizenship for 10 years now.) He kept saying nasty things and I was terrified. So I went to get the store security guard. When we walked over to the racist creep the security guard asked him if there was a problem… creep: “there is no problem, I was just trying to shop and she was talking me up and touching me!!!!”
me:no, you just sexually and racially harassed me.
creep:you don’t know what harassment is.. go back to f*cking Eastrern Europe! ect..”
A manager came over and I told her what happened, I was very upset and scared and I couldn’t help it when I started to cry. She told me and my friend to wait behind the isles on the other side of the store while she took care of it. My friend who was with me the whole time was very scared too and didn’t say much the whole time.
The creep by now was yelling at everyone, saying that “can only Eastern European b*tches shop here???!!” and other nasty things. The manager told him she’s going to call the police and he was yelling “yeah call them” Then when she walked away to call the cops he ran out.
The manager was very nice and sympathetic and took my ID to file a report and then let us out the back door. This happened almost a week ago, the first couple of days I didn’t think about it because I think I was in shock but now I can’t get it out of my head. The store filed a report but I doubt anything will be done about it. I am terrified now because I live 5 minutes away from the store and if I run into him again there will be no security guards to protect me. I decided to go to the police today and file a report. The store has cameras and I’m sure they got the creep on tape.
Hopefully I can get the surveillance video of the creep and post it as well.
Submitted by Tais
And report this shit..
Spent less than 10 minutes tracking down the distribution company that works for a pet food company whose drivers were unloading goods to the pet store today on 6th Ave. Took a snapshot in case I needed the truck number but it wasn’t even necessary because my quick description of the gentleman whose obscenities interrupted my peaceful and much deserved lunch break yielded a quick and easy identification of the donkey dong. His supervisor said “Yeah I know who that was…he’s not right in the head” and thanked me sincerely for calling in to report him. I said I hoped he could understand that workers such as this one are not only harmful to everyone who comes into contact with them throughout the course of their days but also to the pet food company, the pet store, and and most of all, the distributors–the ones who hired the turd. He said “Absolutely, our name is on the truck.”
Not only will Mr. Poop Brains get a scolding, and the supervisor schooled a little bit in the importance of hiring humans versus animals, but the pet food company now knows that the distributor hires turds, and one more phone call will ensure that the pet store knows that the distributor hires turds. That’s a looooot of people who just got HOLLAed at.
Submitted by Beth
So here I am in Boston, 17 years old, not at all expecting harassment as I’ve lived in a small Midwestern town with a population of 8,000 my entire life. I stayed out late in the city with friends and then had to take the train out to the end of the line, and then a bus back to the North Shore. SO I get off the train, walk up to the (completely deserted) bus stop by the highway in the dark, and there’s this young, very greasy-haired guy standing up there, and as I walk past him he starts going all, “Hi sweetie, hi baby, come over and sit by me. What, you won’t talk to me? Too good to talk to me, bitch?” and so on and so forth. I tried to stand as far away from him as I could, but I couldn’t leave the stop because it was the last bus and I certainly didn’t want to miss it and be stuck out on the highway all night. He kept muttering and cursing at me until finally some other passengers showed up, and he kind of melted back into the parking lot behind the stop.
I got home, really shaken up. There was no one here to talk to, so I got on the internet and just typed “street harassment” into the search engine, and found Hollaback. I didn’t take a picture, I was so stunned by being harassed for the first time ever that I didn’t even tell him to fuck off; besides, I didn’t want to make him angry. But I felt so dirty the whole way home, and so shaken, and it feels a little better to send this off into a cyber-void having gotten it off my chest to people who will care.
Submitted by Katherine
Note: Hollaback accepts posts from around the world in places where other Hollabacks do not exist. BUT! We are so happy to announce that it looks like HollabackBOSTON will be restarting in the next month or so. Stay tuned!
Submitted by Elsa
Shouted at every woman he passed on the street. [This is my] first hollaback despite being verbally intruded upon all day, every day.
Submitted by A.
This took place at the W. 23rd St. and 9th Ave bus stop.
It may come as quite a surprise to you to hear this. It may even sting a little. It shouldn’t.
There are some places where I fully expect to be hit on (for example, at the bar). I put up with it. Sometimes, I may even enjoy it. I consider the free drinks you buy me payment for the annoyance I deal with. I will (almost) always accept a free drink. Your efforts, while usually not reciprocated, have not gone unnoticed.
However, putting up with getting hit on at a bar is quite different from being harassed in other places. You should be aware that just because I’m female and have boobs doesn’t mean that you are allowed to harass me and annoy the fuck out of me wherever I am, and no matter what I am doing. There are some things that should remain sacred.
I know it may be difficult to resist making comments to me while I’m running. I’m sure there’s just something about a young woman drenched from head to toe in sweat, hair dripping, breathing heavily and with a face the color of a ripe tomato that you find irresistible. I can only imagine how hard it is for you to hold back when you see me running past in an over-sized sweat stained t-shirt. I sympathize. I really do.
Please, men. I put up with your shit at work. I put up with it at school. I put up with it when I’m driving, and when I’m eating, and when I buy my coffee. I have learned to be prepared when I go to the bar to be approached at least once, usually more. At this point, I pretty much expect it. All women do. But for the LOVE OF GOD, please leave me the fuck alone when I’m running.
P.S. The next guy who harasses me when I’m running is getting kicked in the balls. Consider that your warning.
Reposted from Save Your Wetlands blog.
I walk through what I call “the gauntlet” every day to and from work. It’s a stretch of Canal Street from the Canal Street N/Q stop West to the river. At night, it’s clogged with vendors hocking all manner of counterfeit goods and tourists getting duped. In the morning, it’s an eight block march of cat callers, each seemingly less original than the one before. I never wear headphones through this walk, since I’m constantly on alert for something that could constitute a threat. One morning, I was walking the gauntlet behind a very young woman apparently on her way to work, as she was dressed in a smart business suit. We reached the half way point, when a group of men who constantly give me trouble, started to yell out to her and move toward her on the sidewalk in a threatening manner. She put her head down and continued walking, but I stopped as I pulled up to them. I looked the ring leader in the eye, a older man, late 40′s, early 50′s around the same age as my father. And told him “have a little respect for her and for yourself. That’s not how you treat women.” He told me to “take a compliment” and that I was just jealous because I’m fat (which, for the record, I’m a size 8). I told him that despite his complete disrespect for women, I hoped his daughter and wife didn’t have to live with the daily fear of being sexually harassed by strangers on their way to work, or the movies or a date. I also explained that “it being part of the job” of a construction worker wouldn’t fly, considering my father is a construction worker and would fire and then beat the ass of any of his employees that behaved that way. His cohorts remained silent, but as I walked away, I could hear them all making fun of him by mocking me. I’ve never seen the men since and I always wondered if the woman in front of me called their employer.
A few months ago, I was riding my bike from my boyfriend’s house at the time in Bushwick, to my apartment in South Park Slope. We’d been packing up things in his place and it was during one of the first heat waves of the summer, so I was dripping with sweat by the time I finally climbed on my bike and headed back. It was still light out, as I won’t ride through that area at night by myself. I was pulling onto Franklin Avenue and noticed a black Cadillac SUV in front of me – all shiny and chrome and clearly not cheap. The street is wide, so I was able to pull ahead of it while it stopped for a red light and noticed two 30-ish men in the front seat. The light turned green and the SUV pulled in front. I then noticed the driver sticking his hand out of the window with a camera pointed at me. The flash flickered a few times in rapid succession while I tried to hide my face. The SUV hit another red light and I allowed my handlebars to scrape that beautiful, shiny chrome bumper while telling the drivers to “get f*cked.” The pair just laughed as I sprinted passed them and turned the corner.
Submitted by Erin
So this happened to me a couple of years ago, but it still bothers me so I felt like I should submit it. I was 17 at the time and walking down the street in my own neighborhood when two men in their mid thirties early forties pass by me and stop me. This was on a fairly crowded street during the daytime so I was a taken aback but not really scared. One of the men asks me how old I am, and without thinking I answer truthfully because I was so flustered by them stopping me. He then proceeds to say, “Oh man in a couple of months…” leers at me and walks away chuckling to his sidekick. I wish I had responded to him, and hadn’t treated it like a joke when I told people about it later. I had no clue what to do, I mean what did he think? That if I was 18 that I would magically be interested in him, go somewhere with him? Sleep with him? How is it that he thought it was acceptable to treat me like on object just because I walked by him? No one should treat another human being that way let alone someone who stated they were underage. I don’t walk on the streets for your pleasure, or dress for you, I don’t live for you so don’t interrupt my life because you feel you have the right to. If anything like that ever happens again to me that is what I hope I will say, followed by “You’re an asshole.”
Submitted by Shannon
I was walking to my car from my apartment to pick up my little sister and I’m halfway across the lawn when I get a “Hey! Hey!” There is a group of guys loitering on the stoop of my neighbor the drug-dealer’s apartment that I haven’t noticed (how do I know he’s a drug dealer? because his girlfriend welcomed me to the neighborhood about a month before this incident by telling me if I needed anything to just knock on their door). I pause, turn and realize it’s not someone I know, turn back, and continue walking. I hear something along the lines of a “How are you doin?” and pause again to say “Fine.” I am going to continue to my car but then they invite me inside the leering doorway “Hey! Come over here! Come in here!” I stammer something about I can’t, I have to pick up my sister, goodbye. Is my Achilles heel the fact that I am pretty much always polite? I’m an introvert, quiet and timid with low self-esteem and know nothing of your website yet. I’ve been harassed before by men, usually in cars, and normally just put my head down and keep walking. But these are my neighbors–or at least friends/clients of them.Your neighbors know where you live, what car you and your mom drive, when your little sister gets off the schoolbus. I am afraid of retribution if I am rude. I just turned 18 a week ago.
So I get to my car and put my purse and cellphone on the passenger seat when one of the men RUNS up to the passenger-side window. He’s in baggy street-clothes and is mentioning me to roll my window down. I consider driving off but I second-guess myself and roll the window about 3/4s of the way to see what he wants. I am not totally paralyzed with fear until he sticks his head and arm INTO MY CAR. I want to drive away but that might decapitate him and then I will be held responsible for murder. I feel claustrophobic. There’s a big, scary, man, late 30s-mid 40s, in my car, and if he wanted to, could reach out and touch my face (which is stuck in an obviously frightened and pained smile, throughout our conversation).
His name is Jafar. I ask him if he is my neighbor. He says yes. He says he’s surprised that I didn’t just drive off (indicating he’s done this to others before, great…). He wants my phone #. I tell him I’m late, I have to get my little sister. But he wants my phone #. He is a fast talker, it’s scary. I tell him I have a boyfriend. I tell him that my boyfriend doesn’t want me giving out my #. He says that that “doesn’t matter.” He wants me to give him my #. I try to make an excuse about not having a phone but it’s right on the passenger seat. He’s staring at me. My brain is cloudy with fear, I don’t know what to do. I put his number in my phone instead. This has worked at parties with guys who I don’t want to bother me anymore. I tell him I’ll call him. He says to call him right then. An obvious “no minutes” excuse slips my mind. I call him and shit, now he has my phone #. His phone # has a strange area code, so I ask him about it (since I know he has my # and knows where I live, I want to get as much info as I can on him). A sketchy answer–that you could pick any area code you wanted at the cell phone store…so he picked an out-of-state one? I ask him again if he is my neighbor. He says no this time, that he’s just visiting. I can feel the blood in my veins. I guess he finally takes pity on me and extracts himself from my window, letting me go.
My heart is racing and I want to puke. I cry on the way to getting my sister. I warn her about the neighbors and park in the back of the building. In order to tell my mother about this I would have to wake her up. My mother works night shifts and needs her sleep. Plus this would make her worry even more about us. I cry and call my boyfriend and my boyfriend tells his mom and his mom says I should call the police. But by now this incident has happened hours ago. Jafar is no longer outside. Plus, what would they do, arrest him? For what? Isn’t it my fault, since I stupidly rolled down my window? I still feel frightened though. I double check all the locks and windows. I have trouble falling asleep the next few nights.
I still have Jafar’s # in my phone, so that I can choose to not answer it if he ever calls. He hasn’t. It’s been about 3 months. I not scared anymore but I still mostly park in the back. I don’t want any attention from my neighbors, ever again.
I question why I didn’t just drive off, leave him in the dirt. (The meek will never inherit the earth.) I question alot of things–how he came to have such audacity to invade my personal space–either his complete and utter ignorance of my frightened eyes and smile, or his selfishness as he brushed my feelings of safety away to make room for his own desires. I question women’s gender role in society, to be submissive and pandering and timid and accepting. I question past wrongs: “Titties!” screamed out a car window, numerous car-honkings and tongue-flickerings from vehicles zooming past, a manager at the fast-food joint I worked at who took a plastic toy into the break room and rubbed it between my 14-year-old breasts.
Many, many questions, and I think I’ve come to a conclusion for one of them. I let Jafar psychologically screw with me because I was afraid that, if I stood up for myself, I would come back and he’d still be there, pissed and waiting for revenge. That I’d walk past him and be yelled at, or rushed at and chased after, or the door to my apartment would be scribbled with obscenities, the window cracked, the lock broken. I don’t know if this is an irrational thought or not, if I am just paranoid. I know it’s the coward’s way out (is this victim-blaming?). It’s not noble to do nothing, but I felt–and feel, remembering this–trapped. I want to stand up for myself, but when it’s so close to home, it’s not just big anonymous you. It’s your family, too. I don’t want anything happening to me or my sister or mother. In another apartment complex my little sister was raped. I don’t want it to happen ever again.
Submitted by Gianna
Editor’s Note: Sometimes staying quiet in the moment is the best, most noble defense that we have. It’s doesn’t mean that we’re weak. Street harassment oftentimes leaves us with very few defenses in the moment, but that’s why holla’ing back is so important. Gianna could of just stood up for herself in front of her harasser, but instead she’s standing up for herself on a much bigger platform: the thousands of you that are reading this right now. What’s more heroic than that?