Uh, wasn’t half of that guy’s shows him chasing women who didn’t appreciate or desire his attention?
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I had Gillian Jacobs queued up as a second choice, but I grew up watching Benny Hill, and at the very least the lechers (or other assorted shitheels) got their comeuppance, generally in the long ridiculous chase scene at the end of the show.
My (better) choice:
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Just one of the many reasons women don’t tell randos off, or don’t outright tell someone we’re not interested, or don’t want to talk, or even just to go away. Because if we rebuff too smartly, too quickly, too meanly… the repercussions can be terrifying.
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I was a bit surprised by a recent post that showed that, if the election were held now, men would vote for Trump in a landslide. I think I’m starting to get it now.
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taxi!
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The Jets one – not sure this was obvious - is just a joke and totally staged. I posted it just for the laughs in a thread otherwise laughless. Maybe out of place. Even if it wasn’t a joke and those were all real comments, it’s 100% not the same. That’s why I including a note saying it’s not the same.
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Yep, I’ve had something like that happen as well.
The headphones thing?
That happened to me again just the other day.
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My coworkers and I talk about this every now and again–my female coworkers, three that I can think of in particular, have mentioned that they’ve been hit on in the office by other employees or even flatly asked out on a date, despite some of them being married. In fact, one coworker told me that she told one of these suitors that she was married despite her not wearing a wedding band. He calmly replied that this was NBD (and he’s married).
Oddly enough, I went to get a flu shot this week at the infirmary where I work. In filing out the form, I put only my name, payroll number, DOB, and shift worked. I chatted briefly with the nurse who gave me the shot, and moved on. Came into work the next day, and she’d looked me up in the building-wide Outlook contacts, and left me a message to ask me out.
MY first thoughts went to, “I need to tell her I’m booked already and I’m not interested anyway”, whereas my coworkers went immediately to this person being a “Stalky McStalkerson” and just maybe someone to avoid.
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Hahaha, oh man, if I started to list the number of times men have contacted me inappropriately we’d be here all day!
The best one is the guy who took my application for a store credit card. Remember when you’d get a free gift if you signed up for a store credit card? He had ALL my information, my home address, my phone number, my workplace, my SIN, everything! And he called me at home, to ask me out. That was terrifying. (He got fired).
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[quote=“nytespryte, post:20, topic:88264, full:true”]
My worst car related experience was when I was a teen having a car of guys pace me for a block trying to offer me a ride.
[/quote]Having had a similar experience as a teen, I’m sorry you, or anyone, had to be frightened like that.
Four guys paced me in a car one night, I told them I was almost home and didn’t want a ride. Two got out and grabbed me by the arms. Long story short, I knew my older sister would wake up just enough to react without thinking if she heard her name screamed out. She flew out of the house in seconds and scared them off. Well, her and the huge crash the front door made when flung open.
I took to carrying my dad’s blackjack up my sleeve after that.
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I think that’s what made the whole episode so hilarious to my coworkers. I told them about it once I’d gotten the call, and they were mostly, “yeah, happened to me, too”. But then they’d go on to tell me the horror stories they’d endured. Sooo, all in all, plz refer to @felton 's GIF* above.
*I’d like the misandrist-flavored kill-all-men diamond hotdog sharp G with a fizzy cyanide back, plzthx
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JFC, that’s horrible. A past GF had a similar experience, and the craziest thing, to me, was that despite her playing on a nationally ranked rugby team at the time (and holy hell she was strong as shit!), she got jumped by some random dude who’d hopped out of his car, and she said she was so terrified she could hardly even scream. He dragged her a little ways to the car, but then she’d found the internal panic button and started thrashing and screaming. He fled, like the scum he is.
But that stuck with me. She could lift me bodily, and she…basically stomped me the one time I tried to tackle her on the field, and it was only b/c I outweighed her by 70+ lbs that I could successfully push her backwards. So even this crazy strong woman (Hahhhhhhvaaaahhhhhd educated, no less) was at threat from rando sexual violence.
EDIT: Fucking hell. I’m remembering bad things. Spoilering for trigger-alert?
[spoiler]Dating another woman, who was living in Mammoth, CA, doing research in the mountains there. She lived in a small apartment building, first floor, maybe 8-10 apartments per building. Her bed was too small for both of us, so I used a camping mattress by her bed at night. She woke me up one night and told me someone was touching her. I was groggy, but said, ‘no, you’re probably dreaming’, and she replied that she definitely wasn’t.
Her bed sat under the window, and when I got up and looked, someone had put a milk crate there under the window, and he’d been reaching into the window and touching her leg/calf, but not north of that. I went out the window and circled the building, but didn’t see the person. IIRC, she told me she thought it had happened before but wasn’t sure about it, but she’d been awake enough when I was there to be completely sure.
Such a powerless, weak feeling to be circling that building, filled with rage that someone would do such a thing, and I’m sure it was worse for my friend since she lived there for another year after that incident. Didn’t happen again, but I doubt she kept the window open or even unlocked from that point forward.
[/spoiler]
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[quote=“Missy_Pants, post:43, topic:88264, full:true”]
Because if we rebuff too smartly, too quickly, too meanly… the repercussions can be terrifying.
[/quote]Yeah, it’s just not worth risking the ugliness that can ensue. Fuck, it can turn ugly even when you don’t react.
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You know how certain men (and very few women) will offer their unwanted attentions and opinions to runners and bikers?
Certain men (and to my knowledge, NO women) find it amusing to see how close they can get as they pass by a male runner or biker. When I was a teenager one guy kicked open his door and smashed me off my bike with the weight and velocity of the car, although I imagine that’s rare since idiots won’t want to scratch their paint.
You can hack these troglodytes behavior a little, but you can’t make them not be a-holes.
Being armed and deadly is exactly how I think people should deal with these issues. Asking law enforcement to do so is setting the foxes to guard the chickens.
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That is exactly the scenario playing in the back of my head during the interaction. I kept gauging my distance from the car, but thankfully the dudes stayed in their car.
My second worry was that they would turn the corner when I did. I really wanted to get home but didn’t want them to see which house was mine.
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Christ, yes. A friend in high school told us that shortly after moving to our small town a local cop became sexually aggressive with his mom after a first date, only stopping when the kid came out from his bedroom
Flash forward to summer, and the police are calmly breaking up a party and telling kids to go home. This same cop started getting physical and grabbed me from behind, not by my ams or shoulders, but both hands under my flowy shirt and directly on my breasts.
He manhandled another kid, whose mom just happened to be on the Board of Selectmen. He wasn’t on the job too long after.
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I was living with my mom in her condo after I had my daughter and had separated from her father. Her next door neighbor asked her for a date. She declined.
He called CPS on me. I know, because he told me.
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You know what? Thinking about the shit strangers did to me 40 years ago, not to mention the shitty stuff boys I knew unwittingly did, has made me thirsty. Cheers, mutants, and fuck those assholes!
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I wish it was that easy. 
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