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submitted by Lauren & Julie ( a few minutes before we met Mister Subway.)
My sister is shopping in H & M. (central Manhatten, middle of the day) I am bored of this so sit down on a chair by the main entrance. A shop assistant materialises and just stands there, staring at me and starts blowing kisses and licking his lips.
him: Hey beautiful
me: er… hey
him: Give me your phone number
me: excuse me, but do I know you?
him: I think you want to
me: No, I really don’t think I do (politest British accent)
him: Give me your number I want to call you
me: why would I do that?
him: because you’re gonna sleep with me tonight
me: Well I suggest you draw my face on your pillow and hump it cause that’s the only way it’s gonna happen. Now FUCK. OFF. before I shout for the store manager (in a much less polite tone, alarming nearby shoppers)
Seriously – who employed this guy!
Embarrassed he walks away, Such a shame I didn’t have my camera to hand!
written by Ruth, UK.
The other day, riding my bike through Chelsea, I was slowly riding through a crosswalk when one of the guys waiting to cross felt the need to tell me I had nice tits. I turned my bike right around and started riding towards him, and he took off running down the street as fast as he could, like a little baby. I chased him for almost a full block, hoping to fully instill the fear of the hollaback girl in him. Not so tough now, huh asshole?
written by Emily.
written by Angela.
Random guy standing on the corner: Nice lips.
Me (scowling): What the fuck?
What if I had been doing a very complex DNA computation in my head, because I was an AIDS researcher on the verge of discovering an amazing new wonderdrug, and as I was walking along I was mapping out my morning lab work when all of a sudden Mr. Dumbfuck blurted out, “nice lips” and distracted me? Then I would have lost my place and it would have been all for naught. That’s why guys should leave women alone. Because many of us DON’T CARE what you think and we might be WALKING AND WORKING TO CURE DISEASES, or at least sorting out our own mental illnesses, so SHUT YOUR GODDAMNED PIEHOLES, OKAY?
written by Lauri
however, concerned strangers seem to worry that i might forget, and for a moment define my sense of self from some other aspect of my person. so at least once,every single day, some street samaritan points it outto me.
i’ve heard an amazing range of reminders- from the stunningly uncreative ‘you got big titties‘ and its many many variants, to (twice) someone actually walking up and grabbing them- one of those a-businessman type, at 8:30 in the morning, on a busy 23rd and Lex. one of the grossest was an oldish man with a single dead-cat-like dread hanging off the back of his balding head, sitting on a folding chair on the sidewalk smoking a joint, who looked at me as i walked by and said, ‘heh, heh- got milk?’
a couple of times i’ve gotten really, really angry. when i have, i’ve fought fire with fire. i went up to him and yelled, loud as i could, right in his face, ‘THAT’S A REALLY GOOD WAY TO GET KICKED IN THE HEAD’. and maybe a little etc. i’m sure i looked like a lunatic on the street, but it worked- one guy actually ran away from me, saying ‘you crazy bitch’-and it felt great, and hilarious, every time.
Written by Rosemary
I was on the F train going to Brooklyn. This man next to me was staring, like boring holes into the side of my face staring. So I got up and moved to another seat. He got up and moved to sit across the aisle from me, STARING.
At this point I’m just ignoring him, not talking, not looking, knowing he was going to follow me. We get to Jay St and I wait to get off the train until right before the doors close, so he wouldn’t follow me. But old dirty man figured it out and just as I was walking out of the train doors, he stands next to me and says so no one else can hear: “I was waiting for you to open your legs.”
Written by Amina
Walking in Chelsea on Saturday night with my hollaback friend. This group of men in a stretch-limo SUV yell, in one voice, at the two blond women walking in front of us. As the women pass by silently, the dudes turntheir attention to us: “Let’s party! Wanna come to New Jersey? Come inand ride with us! We’ll take you to New Jersey!” They grow quiet as I slow down to take out my phone and hollaBACK. As I’m taking a photo, theyare still imploring my friend to get in the car. As we walk away, she turns to me: “Did you get a photo?” Yes I did. Consider yourselves HOLLA’d at. I do mess with Jersey. -Johanna
posted by Tiffany