Leftist commentary from a mouthy bitch
As those of you who read my personal LJ know, I got street harassed last night while walking home from the bus stop. A little background first. I do live in an area that is “in the city” and not so far away from the strip that is one of the most notorious for drug deals and prostitutions, but there’s this hill that sort of acts like a weird buffer between our residential area and Aurora. So it’s not like we don’t get creeps, but it still is infrequent enough to be startling.
It was raining fairly hard, so I had my hood up on my gigantic hoodie. I had a black knee-length skirt and black patterned tights on, as well as big clunky shoes. I was carrying a backpack and a plastic grocery sack with my lunch dishes and coffee cup in it. I had my head down, and was walking quickly, hoping to get home before I was completely soaked.
As I passed a drugstore, someone beeped their horn. As we know tons of people in that area in spite of just recently having moved in, I looked. Didn’t see any familiar cars. Head back down, kept walking. A silver car drove over to the driveway as I crossed it and beeped again. I peered at it through the water beading on my glasses. Nope, didn’t know them. I turned back around and kept walking, a little faster. He watched me go up the street and when it, apparently became obvious where I was headed, he pulled out of the driveway and turned left onto the street where I turn left. As I turned, he circled a traffic circle and pulled to a stop on the opposite side of the street.
It’s dark. I can’t see well because of the water on my glasses. The street is wet and slick. I don’t have a weapon. I’m starting to actually get freaked out. As I approach, an unfamiliar voice calls, “Want a ride?”
“Sorry, no!” I yell, and bolt up my street, listening for the sound of him following me. I’ve been hit by a car before and have no desire to go through it again. I’m looking around at yards, wondering if I can vault a fence to safety, looking for houses with lights, but hardly anyone’s home yet.
I got home out of breath and shaking, and finally starting to get angry rather than scared. My husband asked me what was wrong, and when I told him said, “Carry your straight razor again.” The room-mate said I should call her next time, and she’d wait in the yard with a bat and a phone dialled at 9-1-
Now, I can already hear the rolling of eyes, mostly from men. “What were you afraid of? He was just a nice guy who wondered if you wanted a ride home in the rain. What a paranoid bitch.”
And if I’d actually been dumb enough to get in the car and something, Gods forbid, had happened to me? “Stupid bitch, she should know better than to get into a car with a stranger. What the hell was she thinking?”
Given that my paranoia, which is the paranoia of the majority of womankind, has kept me alive so far, I’ll stick with that, thanks. Let us again name the reasons that this situation was scary.
It’s dark. It’s raining. I can’t see. I’m encumbered with a backpack and a bag. The footing is poor. He’s IN A CAR. I don’t know if he’s really a nice guy or a fucking serial killer. I don’t know if he has a gun in that car. I don’t know anything but that he has very creepily followed me, a complete stranger, from the drugstore parking lot in spite of my continued indifference.
Do you really have to ask why I was freaked out, after all that?