It has been a while since I have felt genuine fear when approached by a man, and I don’t miss that feeling at all.
This story starts weeks ago. I was on a lunch break walking to a nearby restaurant, when I took an alternate route in order to avoid someone. Then, I encountered three men who were handing out postcards for an upcoming event. I politely took the postcard and returned to my day. Today, on the way to the post office, I crossed the street in order to avoid someone. On this other side of the street, someone spoke, saying something to me that sounded like, “nice to see you again.” Wearing headphones and listening to a podcast, I wasn’t sure. When I looked up, I nodded and kept walking, and then realized that this was one of the men who had given me a postcard about two months ago.
On the way back home, I decided to take another route, not wanting to encounter this person again. I was a little weirded out for being remembered by someone who had been handing out flyers in the neighboring town.
About halfway home, I noticed a car driving very slowly on a street perpendicular to the one that I was just turning onto. I looked up, and the driver of the car began to talk to me. He said a few of the standard things that men who enjoy the pastime at yelling out of car windows at women say. My general strategy in this situation is to politely rebuff the dude as I keep walking. Briskly. During the exchange, this man asked me, “Can I follow you?”
Then, I stopped, looked directly at him and told him, “No.”
This scared me. Just a little. It didn’t help that after watching The People v. O.J. Simpson: American Crime Story, that I’ve been obsessed with that case. I’ve listened to hours of podcasts about the show. I’ve read many of the Dominick Dunne Vanity Fair articles about the case. The case has placed violence against women closer to my mental desktop than it usually is. When this man suggested to me, a woman walking alone, that following me was a thing that was in his mind, it scared me.
I saw his car pull away.
I continued to walk. Briskly.
However, after that interaction, I felt exposed. I was wearing an outfit that was chosen for a brisk 3 mile round trip walk. I had on shorts (well, this short + skirt thing) and a sweaty gray t-shirt, workout clothes. I had on the shoes I wear to cut the grass. Immediately, I asked myself if I had brought this interaction upon myself. I found myself wishing that I had worn jeans. I very seldom wear shorts. In fact, I only own shorts for exercise and for sleeping in. I now was worried about the length of the shorts. I reached back, pulling on them for maximum possible coverage, when I heard something; I turned my head and saw this man.
He had followed me.
He had also watched me pull on my shorts, and laughed a little.
I became acutely aware of how far away from home I was. I was also in the middle of a residential neighborhood.
He began to talk to me. Here, I took my headphones off. I wanted to hear what this man was saying to me. It might have turned out to be important.
As I continued to walk, he drove beside me.
“I’m in love with you,” he said.
I kept moving. He decided to make his case.
He told me, among other things, that he wanted to get to know me. He said that he worked for Ford, that he had a good job, that he makes $26 an hour. He told me that he doesn’t have any kids, and that he doesn’t have a girlfriend.
Then I remembered that many men who won’t gracefully take no for an answer, will respect what he sees as another man’s property.
“I have a boyfriend,” I said as he continued to follow me.
He maintained my pace, looking at me while his car rolled forward.
“You’re looking at me like you don’t believe me, but it’s true.”
He continued to follow me and told me that he did believe me because he wasn’t surprised to hear that someone “as beautiful” as I am would have a boyfriend.
I kept walking. He kept following.
He said that he wanted to take me out, get to know me. I kept walking.
Then he asked, “What if I pay you to let me take you out?”
My fear coefficent increased.
He named a dollar amount.
I kept walking eyes now fixed straight ahead. As I continued to walk, he told me his name and yelled his phone number from his car window. He repeated it a few times. Then, he left. I didn’t see him turn around, nor did he pass me. I didn’t turn around to see where he went. I didn’t want this to be interpreted as encouragement.
A few feet ahead, I saw a woman on her porch with a toddler. I very seriously considered walking onto her porch, and pretending to know her while quietly asking her if I could just stay on her porch until that guy’s car went away.
Instead, I kept walking.