Accidental Eye Contact

It becomes a habit to avoid eye contact with people on the street when you live in a large city. It's not that most city folk are mean or anti-social, it is just that we've learned from experience that making eye contact ups your chances for being sucked into a situation with a crazy, mean, or horny person. Here's what happened to my friend in Chicago when she made Accidental Eye Contact (AEC) with someone on the subway:

I was taking the train home from work, engrossed in a novel. At some
point, I smelled meat, which brought me out of my book enough to
glance around for the source. It turned out to be a sandwich, being
consumed by the man sitting next to me. In the biggest mistake of my
day, I made very brief eye contact with said man. He was an older guy,
maybe in his late 70s, and apparently he'd been just waiting for a
reason to start talking.

First he asked me if I wanted some of his sandwich. I smiled and said
no, thanks.

Next he asked me, "How old are you, 20?" (I was I think 28 at the
time.) I responded with a chuckle and something vague, like, "not
quite" and went back to my book.

His follow-up question was, "Have you ever been loved like you've
never been loved before?" I believe I managed to get out, "I'm good,
thanks," before I decided to stop responding and just keep my eyes on
my book. But he was not to be deterred. Through the next few train
stops he detailed everything that he could do to me, to give me love
like I'd never had before. I was simultaneously laughing, trying not
to make my laughter very obvious (but I'm sure failing), and trying
desperately to concentrate on my book. Finally I just gave up and left
the train before my stop, to wait for the next one.

By the way, I did have my wedding ring on.

Jubblies

Here's another traumatizing experience that happened to one of my male friends:

I was on the rush hour 4/5 train with my messenger bag slung around my back and some fucking midgety-old man in a baseball hat and a Member's Only jacket squeezed in tight next to me. We got to the next stop, people piled on, and the back of one of his hands kind of grazed my jubblies. I figured, okay, well, it's crowded, he probably just slipped a bit. The next stop, it happened again and I flashed the guy a "What the fuck is your problem?" look and he kind of gave me a cold, blank stare. I moved my messenger bag to protect my crotch/loins and try to push my way to a different spot on the train.

Disturbing....

Honey Pie

We always hear about catcalls happening to women but often men are the recipients of harrassment:


So I was a little early meeting my girlfriend at her apartment uptown, so I thought I'd go to the local liquor store and pick up some wine. Walking innocently enough along, I heard from over my shoulder "Wanna fuck me tonight, Honey Pie?". I briefly turned around, expecting the cliche, drunk, crazy lady... and was a little startled (and saddened) to see a rather normally dressed woman, rolling a sort of designer piece of luggage as though on her way to catch a shuttle to LA for a lunch meeting or something. She clearly was in some kind of mental distress, perhaps off some medication... I'm not just being modest in a "She must be looney tunes to want me to fuck her tonight" kind of way... she was nuts.

Anyway, I thought nothing of it (remember... I was visiting my girlfriend... so I couldn't really even consider the offer in good conscience). I picked up the wine and went to wait by the subway exit for my girlfriend when who should I see but my new lady friend stalking that very exit. I crossed the street pretty quickly and tried not to look like I was stalking this unfortunate woman as I watched her dry hump the CVS on the corner and squat in some kind of mock-defecation, pointing at herself as she did as if to indicate to passers-by that yes, indeed, she is pretending to shit for them. All in all a sad display, even sadder perhaps that it might have been one of the more romantic things a stranger has flattered me with.

Just goes to show, given the right neurochemical breakdown, even men can be the victims of cat calls.

-Anonymous

Iron My Shirt, Mrs. Future President

Many of you have already heard about the hecklers at one of Hillary Clinton's rallies in NH. They repeatedly shouted, "Iron my shirt!" while holding signs with the same message. As they were being taken away, she responded with, "Aah, the remnants of sexism, alive and well!" which was received with laughter and applause. Nice comeback, lady! If you weren't running for office I wish you had dumped a bottle of Downy Wrinkle Remover on their heads!

I debated about posting this very recent and well-publicized cat call because, well, it could be argued that its not a cat call at all. But when I looked up the definition on Merriam Webster's website I found:

catcall

Function:

noun

Date:

1693

1 : a loud or raucous cry made especially to express disapproval (as at a sports event) 2 : a derisive remark : criticism

— catcall verb

Pretty Boy

A few weeks ago I was walking home at night through Alphabet City. I believe it was a Thursday night, the beginning of the party weekend in my neighborhood. There was a group of young men, early twenties it seemed, walking towards me on Avenue B between 4th and 5th Streets. They were clearly out partying and probably drunk. They were ogling me as they approached me but I could not understand what they were saying because they were European (I'm not exactly sure which foreign language they were slurring and cat calling in but it was certainly directed towards me). I believe there were about 9 of them and after the first 8 or so passed by me, the last one grabbed me by the wrist and stopped me.

This caught me so off guard and angered me so much that it has taken me weeks to get around to writing about it. I haven't even told my friends or family because the whole experience upset me so much.

I tried to shake him off of me and yelled, "Get your hand off me!" He said in heavily accented English, "My friend said I could kiss you, can I kiss you?" I finally had to twist my arm and use my other fist to knock his hand off my wrist to get him off of me.

THANK YOU to my high school and college gym teachers who insisted upon teaching self-defense classes!

Once I was loose and was able to take a few steps away from him, I was not longer scared but just angry. I started screaming at him. He just seemed amused by the whole situation. He kept asking if he could kiss me and I kept saying no. For a moment, I thought this was a wonderful opportunity to get a photo for this blog. As I dug through my purse with one hand, searching for my camera, I kept one hand free so I could keep him at a distance, if necessary (oh, what I will do for this blog!)

He kept bothering me but he kept his hands off me. I told him I was going to take a picture of him for my cat calling blog but that didn't seem to bother him! He was either incredibly drunk or incredibly VAIN (probably both since he was a "pretty boy"). I finally saw the pointlessness in the photo. I was just prolonging getting away from this creep and it was only going to boost his ego if I took the picture. Once I backed away enough I turned around and walked briskly home. He must have left to catch up with his other drunken friends.

So that's one less photo for this blog but at least I escaped unharmed and only slightly emotionally bruised.

Comeback

I rarely respond to cat callers so as not to egg them on but sometimes, if I'm in a mood, something will just spew out. Last week I walked by the construction site on my street (how cliche) and heard from two men, "Hey beautiful!", then, as I walked past them, "Don't you speak English?!" I responded quickly with, "I don't speak YOUR language!!!".

At the time I was pretty proud of myself for responding so succinctly and without vulgarities but I now wonder if those guys even got the point.