Of course, like most of you, I have a million things to say to the assholes that harass–but only much, much later than the time when it matters.

Image by fredcamino via Flickr

Tonight I took the Metro to Adams Morgan to meet some friends. I sat in the seats on the farthest side of the train, facing all the other passengers. An old man with a cane walked around asking all the other passengers for a dollar. When he got to me, I told him I didn’t have anything.

He stayed standing right by me, his body facing toward me, and I could feel that nagging intuition that he was staring at me. So I looked at him. He was looking right at my chest (which was, I thought, pretty unremarkable, under a t-shirt that grants me full coverage).

I stared at him right in the face, as if to challenge him and let him know that I knew what he was doing. He looked me up and down some more, looked me in the face, and licked his lips. I got up, looked at him, and took another seat amidst a lot of happy Metro riders on their way out to party. I seethed the whole time, thinking of all the things I should have done. I wish I had said something–anything–but this shit always happens when you least expect it.

Submitted by Ariana

Location: On the Metro (red line)

Time of harassment: Night (7:30P-12A)

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