A Classmate Of Mine. This is almost, ALMOST as good as the boy in my Spanish class a million semesters ago who said, serious as a heart attack, "Soccer is a grown man's sport." The next slide in the presentation he was giving was a picture of a bagel. This particular quote I've… uh, quoted, is particularly wonderful because it was posted on a discussion board on the internet. He had time to think this sentence, type it out, maybe re-read it, decide it was a good and relevant addition to the conversation, and publish it. When I write my memoir, a chapter will be entitled: "Community College - Wherein I Spend Half the Time Being Blown Away by Unadulterated, Untapped Genius and the Other Half Pinching the Bridge of My Nose With My Eyes Closed and Cursing the State of Our Public Schools and Feeling Feelings for These People Whose Parents for Whatever Reason Did Not or Could Not Read to Them."
I am blogging this blog for two reasons:
1) My screenwriting class (don't ask me, I don't know why this is happening) got cancelled but I can't leave because I have another class. The other class is math and please believe I'd like to leave. Please. Believe. So I am here, googling "filming street harassers" because
2) I AM BEING STREET HARASSED on the regular by the same men. And I am at my wit's end. My. Wit's. End. This morning it was so bad, you guys. Like, the worst it's ever been. Luckily, I am not the sort to fall apart over these types of things, being aware that the fault is theirs and not mine, etcetera. I feel pissed off. That's fucking rude, jerks hanging out in front of a bar in the wee hours of the morning. Who raised you? And don't say wolves, because wolves have MANNERS.
For a full discourse on street harassment, please help yourself to the rest of the internet. There are plenty of women far more eloquent than I offering information on this practice of catcalling. (There are also plenty of women who will tell you to "be grateful for the attention," and I just… I feel sorry for those women, actually. Annoyed that they're contributing to the problem, but mostly I just feel deeply sorry if that's how they truly feel.) It was while clicking through these articles that I learned about a couple of women filming their harassers, which was an idea I had this morning when I was still pissed off. (I'm over the incident(s), now, after the fact, but not the principle. The principle being, I shouldn't have to brace myself to be violated on my fucking walk to work.) Now, under every other circumstance I ignore them, whoever "them" happens to be, and keep walking. It's not worth my energy (although, hey wait, sometimes it takes more energy to keep a straight face and keep walking than it does to react? how many people spend all their energy holding shit in only to explode their shit, or implode their shit, later on? thinking thoughts, it hurts it hurts!) and also, I don't want to escalate the situation and have it become A Situation. I think of it like ignoring a child's temper tantrum, even though in this case the child is a full grown asshole instead of a bundle of id. But this shit, this garbage shit that I am speaking of tonight, is happening to me in my neighborhood that I love on a regular basis on my walk to work. So no, it doesn't feel as random as it usually does. It feels fucking personal, even though I know it really isn't, and I feel violated. AND NOBODY MAKES ME FEEL FEELINGS I DON'T WANT TO FEEL, STRANGE MEN.
So I thought, I should take their picture. Or film them. I'm not sure which. But when I do, I'm going to upload it to every video uploading platform I can. I'm going to post their faces on local websites and on the website of that fucking bar and on Craigslist and I don't know what good it will do but I don't think I can handle being passive anymore. Because to me, passivity = granting them permission to continue to treat me a certain way.
Or I won't, and I'll just think about it, because just thinking about it and writing about it made me feel better. And the fact that other women have already done it makes me feel better. And also worse, because why are there so many women for whom this is a thing that happens?
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| I know who raised him. |
