Green Team :(
Katy and I were riding our bicycles around the nice part of town last night and got sexually harassed by a sedan-load of rowdy, intimidating men with cigarettes and beer bottles.
We rode our bikes to the Barnes and Noble Bookstar on Ventura, where Katy showed me a commentary on the shame and pointlessness of Western hipster culture in the current issue of Adbusters (which I find funny, since hipsters LOVE Adbusters). Then we went to Starbucks and walked down Ventura while Katy enjoyed her beverage. We were in the Trader Joe's plaza parking lot, near Pinkberry when this dude came out from wherever he came from (although to us it felt like he'd jumped out from a bush) and asked:
"Hey you guys goin' to Pinkberry?"
"Uh, no..."
Observing the bicycle helmets we carried in our hands, he then asked "you guys gonna ride some motorcycles?"
Katy and I walked faster and I snarkily muttered "no."
"Hey where're you going tonight? You may not think I'm down but I got a f*****g beer!"
Charming.
Katy and I grab our keys, put them in the universal 'I will stab you in the goddamned throat' position, and clutch our helmets in our other hands knowing if it came down to it, we could try to club and puncture at the same time. We sought temporary refuge in Blockbuster. I mentally went through all the imposing gentlemen I could call to come protect us. Frank was first, but he had rugby practice. And then...who? The only other imposing men we knew were either working night shift at Henson or we didn't have their phone numbers. No, I assured myself, you can handle this situation together, you don't need a boy to protect you.
We left Blockbuster and headed toward the other end of the parking lot, near the McDonalds, where we could cross the street and head back to our bicycles without being hassled further. As we moved we heard the guy and his friends shouting at us from where we'd seen them. We crossed the street and got to our bikes with nary another incident.
For some reason we both decided to bike home the short way, by going past that same parking lot. Not until it was too late did we realize that was a bad idea. As we biked past the parking lot exit, up drove our friends - I counted three - in a black car. They recognized us right away.
"Hey girls! We love you!"
"Your asses look f*****g sexy on those seats!"
"Hey where're you going?"
"Nice tits."
They drove next to us for a good block or two. Katy was in front, they were closer to her. I saw the one in the back flick a cigarette at her. As soon as we had the opportunity we got onto the sidewalk, but they just rode alongside. Ok, Ok, um we should duck into a restaurant I told myself, but Katy was ahead of me, passing the restaurants by and I wasn't going to ditch her. Then they pulled over.
Luckily as they pulled over Katy and I were coming upon a family of three, with a little dog on a leash. We stopped and, both of us choking back tears, tried to explain to them what was going on. The car drove away immediately.
Still paused on the sidewalk with the family, Katy and I looked at each other. It was dark, we were scared, we wished we were home. But now we ran the risk of being found and followed by these douchebags. "Where do we go, what do we do now?" I asked Katy, desperate and defeated. The father asked where we were headed; North Hollywood. They invited us to walk with them for a while, which we did. A father, mother, eleven year-old daughter, and a two year-old dog named Katie. They had just gone together to eat some Pinkberry. We walked and talked about light subjects. They complimented my bike basket, and I told them of their future retail at the bike shop. We walked slowly, spending about ten minutes with them.
When we reached Colfax we said good-bye to the family, expressing our gratitude. Katy and I hesitantly rode toward home, hoping that the guys in the car had forgotten about us, were not looking for us. What if they had gotten out of the car, came running for us? On Ventura Boulevard we had our pick of places to seek refuge, but from here on home we wouldn't have such accommodations. About halfway home we finally could talk to each other.
"That was so scary. I'm still really upset," said Katy.
"They'll get theirs in prison," I said, honestly hoping it would be true some day.
"I was about to cry when we got to that family. I still feel like crying."
"Me too."
"I can't believe men think they can do that stuff," Katy's voice had a tone to it that was new to me - her arguing tone mixed with her "what am I supposed to do?" tone. I thought about that nice family, how they kept us calm and made us feel safe. I wondered if whether that little girl thought anything of the event. I asked myself how I'd have felt, being eleven and seeing two "big girls" approach me and my parents, terrified, telling me about the car-load of men who followed them shouting rude things. What would I have thought if I'd heard them saying to each other that they shouldn't ride their bikes after nightfall ever again, not without a boy. I asked if such a thing could scar her, make her afraid, make her think that feminism is just an ideal and in practice is useless because she'd seen two independent young women resign themselves to being chaperoned after dark.
I asked myself if I really wanted to erase the things we'd said about needing men to feel safe. And it wasn't that I wished I hadn't said them, I wished I didn't have to say them. I wished men didn't just talk to women and follow them around harassing them like they're stray dogs. I wished people didn't believe they were free to inspire fear in others, wished all people held themselves accountable for their wrongdoings. God knows I do.
I was so angry when I got home. Frank was on the couch, dirt all over his legs from rugby practice. He helped me get my bike in the apartment and as I told him what happened I cried. I was sickened and angry and sad. I told Frank I was glad he's not like those guys in that car. He tried to joke and say he and Marty go out on weekends and we just don't know about it. Mostly though he just held me close and listened.
And after my strange day of natural disasters and sexual harassment, I sat down and finally had that drink I'd needed all day, prepared by my boyfriend, who every day restores my faith in something new.
We rode our bikes to the Barnes and Noble Bookstar on Ventura, where Katy showed me a commentary on the shame and pointlessness of Western hipster culture in the current issue of Adbusters (which I find funny, since hipsters LOVE Adbusters). Then we went to Starbucks and walked down Ventura while Katy enjoyed her beverage. We were in the Trader Joe's plaza parking lot, near Pinkberry when this dude came out from wherever he came from (although to us it felt like he'd jumped out from a bush) and asked:
"Hey you guys goin' to Pinkberry?"
"Uh, no..."
Observing the bicycle helmets we carried in our hands, he then asked "you guys gonna ride some motorcycles?"
Katy and I walked faster and I snarkily muttered "no."
"Hey where're you going tonight? You may not think I'm down but I got a f*****g beer!"
Charming.
Katy and I grab our keys, put them in the universal 'I will stab you in the goddamned throat' position, and clutch our helmets in our other hands knowing if it came down to it, we could try to club and puncture at the same time. We sought temporary refuge in Blockbuster. I mentally went through all the imposing gentlemen I could call to come protect us. Frank was first, but he had rugby practice. And then...who? The only other imposing men we knew were either working night shift at Henson or we didn't have their phone numbers. No, I assured myself, you can handle this situation together, you don't need a boy to protect you.
We left Blockbuster and headed toward the other end of the parking lot, near the McDonalds, where we could cross the street and head back to our bicycles without being hassled further. As we moved we heard the guy and his friends shouting at us from where we'd seen them. We crossed the street and got to our bikes with nary another incident.
For some reason we both decided to bike home the short way, by going past that same parking lot. Not until it was too late did we realize that was a bad idea. As we biked past the parking lot exit, up drove our friends - I counted three - in a black car. They recognized us right away.
"Hey girls! We love you!"
"Your asses look f*****g sexy on those seats!"
"Hey where're you going?"
"Nice tits."
They drove next to us for a good block or two. Katy was in front, they were closer to her. I saw the one in the back flick a cigarette at her. As soon as we had the opportunity we got onto the sidewalk, but they just rode alongside. Ok, Ok, um we should duck into a restaurant I told myself, but Katy was ahead of me, passing the restaurants by and I wasn't going to ditch her. Then they pulled over.
Luckily as they pulled over Katy and I were coming upon a family of three, with a little dog on a leash. We stopped and, both of us choking back tears, tried to explain to them what was going on. The car drove away immediately.
Still paused on the sidewalk with the family, Katy and I looked at each other. It was dark, we were scared, we wished we were home. But now we ran the risk of being found and followed by these douchebags. "Where do we go, what do we do now?" I asked Katy, desperate and defeated. The father asked where we were headed; North Hollywood. They invited us to walk with them for a while, which we did. A father, mother, eleven year-old daughter, and a two year-old dog named Katie. They had just gone together to eat some Pinkberry. We walked and talked about light subjects. They complimented my bike basket, and I told them of their future retail at the bike shop. We walked slowly, spending about ten minutes with them.
When we reached Colfax we said good-bye to the family, expressing our gratitude. Katy and I hesitantly rode toward home, hoping that the guys in the car had forgotten about us, were not looking for us. What if they had gotten out of the car, came running for us? On Ventura Boulevard we had our pick of places to seek refuge, but from here on home we wouldn't have such accommodations. About halfway home we finally could talk to each other.
"That was so scary. I'm still really upset," said Katy.
"They'll get theirs in prison," I said, honestly hoping it would be true some day.
"I was about to cry when we got to that family. I still feel like crying."
"Me too."
"I can't believe men think they can do that stuff," Katy's voice had a tone to it that was new to me - her arguing tone mixed with her "what am I supposed to do?" tone. I thought about that nice family, how they kept us calm and made us feel safe. I wondered if whether that little girl thought anything of the event. I asked myself how I'd have felt, being eleven and seeing two "big girls" approach me and my parents, terrified, telling me about the car-load of men who followed them shouting rude things. What would I have thought if I'd heard them saying to each other that they shouldn't ride their bikes after nightfall ever again, not without a boy. I asked if such a thing could scar her, make her afraid, make her think that feminism is just an ideal and in practice is useless because she'd seen two independent young women resign themselves to being chaperoned after dark.
I asked myself if I really wanted to erase the things we'd said about needing men to feel safe. And it wasn't that I wished I hadn't said them, I wished I didn't have to say them. I wished men didn't just talk to women and follow them around harassing them like they're stray dogs. I wished people didn't believe they were free to inspire fear in others, wished all people held themselves accountable for their wrongdoings. God knows I do.
I was so angry when I got home. Frank was on the couch, dirt all over his legs from rugby practice. He helped me get my bike in the apartment and as I told him what happened I cried. I was sickened and angry and sad. I told Frank I was glad he's not like those guys in that car. He tried to joke and say he and Marty go out on weekends and we just don't know about it. Mostly though he just held me close and listened.
And after my strange day of natural disasters and sexual harassment, I sat down and finally had that drink I'd needed all day, prepared by my boyfriend, who every day restores my faith in something new.