Most men just can’t fathom what it’s like being a woman in this world. Sadly, many think that any complaints from women about how things are are just a sign of “weakness,” but what they don’t realize is that all of the garbage they endure on nearly a daily basis speaks more to their strength than anything else. As a rule, women are usually smaller than men; they are also more desired, which can make them look like prey to certain kinds of men. Nearly every woman becomes aware of this fact at some point and develops their own defenses against this threat, which can be anywhere. This is a fictional account of such a scenario, although real stories like this are just about everywhere. In this story, a woman is walking home alone at night, and a drunk guy spots the perfect opportunity to harass her, but someone else notices what’s going on and steps in.
So last night when I was walking from the bus stop to my house – it was just late enough that all the restaurants were closed – there was a very intoxicated middle-aged man up ahead yelling in a jovial manner at people as they walked past. (There was still a lot of foot traffic on the streets.) And I already KNEW that he wouldn’t just yell at me as I passed. Because if you’re a young woman walking alone – day or night – that’s an invitation for conversation, obviously.
And of course, he gets up and starts walking alongside me, talking at me. During a lull in his rambling, I try to fall back, but he walks back to me. He starts asking me questions about myself, and I explain that I’m in a rush to get home and don’t really have time to talk. I pick up my pace, but he keeps up. I start looking for a break in traffic so I can cross the road. By this stage he seems to be a bit offended that I’m not answering any of his questions. “I just want to know your name, okay?”
I should say at this point that he was not especially threatening – I’m sure you all know the sort: a congenial drunk man who will just not leave you the fuck alone – but I was getting quite distressed. It was close to the turn off of my street, and I really didn’t want him following me any further.
A young guy walks past and I tried to make eye contact, but he keeps his head down. The drunk guy keeps asking me why I don’t want to talk to him… and to be completely honest I am now on the verge of angry-crying because in what fucking universe (!!!) do I have to explain this?
And then, a guy jogs down the street towards us? “Hi, it’s Jessica right?” I mumble something. He introduces himself to the drunk guy, takes over the conversation, is saying how surprised he is to run into me. The drunk guy is not an idiot: “I just wanted to ask her name, okay?
I wasn’t doing anything.” The other guy: “Yeah, well, Jessica’s just on her way home.”
Eventually, the drunk guy gets bored and wanders off, and my new companion crosses the street with me. I’m so relieved I’m shaking. “I’m sure he was harmless, but thank you. He wasn’t doing anything, and I’m over-reacting, but thank you, really.”
He explained that he was actually driving past and saw the drunk guy talking to me – and also saw that I was visibly distressed – so he pulled over further up the street to walk back down. He chatted to me for another minute, keeping his distance, and then I headed home.
Moral of the story: if you ever see a situation where it looks like a woman might be being harassed, and she looks uncomfortable or upset, it might seem impossibly awkward to intervene and find out if she’s okay – but it can be done. Maybe just pretend her name is Jessica.
Also: thanks, stranger.”
