Street Harassment, Redemption and YOU.

[d_aulnoy]

So, obviously, I grew up in NY.  (Well, okay, maybe not so obviously, as last night's waitress kept insisting that I had an accent: apparently, the District of Weird has its own recognizable dialect).

Last night, fletcherschloe , cataptromancer , schrodingersgnu  and I gathered on 33rd to celebrate his impending sagacity.  With the coming of age, right?  Initially, the Gnu was attempting to gather us at his place: when I pointed out that late-night cross-town travel was not so much the working girl's friend, he acquised nicely, and we compromised on my New Favorite Bar, ever.  (No, I am not sharing the name.  It's mine.)

But, 34th.

I spent most of my adolescence on 34th: my best friend's mother had a hardware store down there, and we used to pick up extra cash minding the till and learning more about grout then any self-respecting person would like.  My mother permitted this because she figured we were supervised by adults.  I mean, she didn't let me leave the house aloneuntil I was 12: the idea of me at 15 running around that area during the Kinkins era (Koch/Dinkins, aka pre-Guiliani) would not so much have filled her heart with glee.  Tina's mom?  Was much more relaxed, and thought nothing of sending us out on errands.  So, that's when I met Little Pablito, and kicked a lot of boyfriends (hers), and extended a lot of middle fingers (uh, mine).  Because 34th at 15?  It's like the old saw about DWB, only gendered: Walking While Female.

So, last night, in homage to the last days of my youth, I dressed ... non-provocatively.  Jeans, high-necked tee, and lots and lots of spikes.  For the most part, it worked: I got nothing worse then a "Hey, baby ..." which, at 2, is more courtesy then harassment.  (Yes, I know that's weird: I'm just trying to give some ... context.)

No, of course, issues only arose on the way home.

When I was eighteen, I received my most damaging bit of public commentary.  Your generic "Nice ass!" "Wanna ride?" "Hey, cunt!" crap doesn't really penetrate.  It's white noise, at this point.  I tell them to read between the lines, as Roommate B. would say, and I move on.

But one fine summer day when I was 18, I was taking the subway to school, dressed modestly in a tank top with a bra.  No, seriously, the bra is important.  And as I was getting off the train, a man in his fifties who was getting on stopped briefly, looked me up and down, and said "Nice nipples."  There's no exclamation point on that.  It wasn't a come-on, it wasn't a shocked outburst at the sheer perfection of the vision of beauty before him, it was just another nicely objectifying slap in the face.  Oh, do you have a life?  Are you heading to school?  Minding your own business?  Whatever, babe.  Nice nipples.  Never forget what we keep you around for ....

I was late for class, and the doors were closing, and I didn't say anything.  I just walked to school with my arms crossed over my chest.

So, cut to last night.

fletcherschloe has gotten off at her stop, which is one before mine, I'm standing by the door - having a life, minding my own business, etc. - when the gentleman sitting beside me looks up at me, smiles, and says something.

"Excuse me?"

"I said, nice belly."

And I thought about it for a minute, I really did.  The doors were closing.  It was my stop.

And I tugged my high necked black shirt down over the exposed wedge of hip, smiled big, and told him, That's really inappropriate.  We had a nice chat.  I had a nice walk home from the aboveground at three a.m.

The times, they are a'changing ....