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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.
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.
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.
Submitted by Kay.
I am 15 right now, and at the time of this “incident” I was 14. The scene is just out in downtown Darien, Connecticut, which is a pretty safe state if I do say so myself. I was waiting on a bench right next to a family restaurant FULL of people, while my friends left to go to a Starbucks not 50 yards away. While I was sitting and waiting for my parents to pick me up, I noticed two “gentlemen” come up to me. They said a few sentences, but all I managed to get out was “Are you alright? You sure look alright. You want us to wait with you?” All the while they kept leering at me and smiling, and I could tell they were smashed. I just kept saying “I’m fine, I’m okay” until they crossed the street. I immediately went to go to my friends at the Starbucks and I said “Those drunk guys were hitting on me” to which a guy friend of mine responded “Those weren’t just any drunk guys, those were firemen!”
Hello Mr. Dude in suit who likes to holla at women while carrying home your wife’s dry cleaning.