It’s kind of funny that I finally started posting about the lady issues here in the land of vodka and cigarettes, because Thursday night after class, my roommate, our friend, and I were accosted on the metro by a dude we all assumed was drunk.
Let me say that first of all, I read an blog post/article a few years about rape that has always stuck with me. The part that has stuck with me the most is about a man ignoring NO. Any man who ignores a woman’s NO in a non-sexual setting is more likely to ignore NO in a sexual setting, as well. It says that if a man ignores a woman’s attempts to either say no, cut off a conversation (or attempt at conversation), or otherwise make him leave her alone, that said man believes that his desire to speak, etc., trumps her desire to be left alone. The article is called Schrödinger’s Rapist: or a guy’s guide to approaching strange women without being maced.
The dude on the train immediately made me think of that blog post/article. At first, we all thought something was wrong, because he was mouthing words and pointing at his neck. It was all just really, really awkward. Of course, we all did the usual, ignored, turned away, etc., then he decided to escalate it and punched at our friend’s arm to get her attention. He moved in closer, he started waving hands in our faces. Then he touched/rubbed my back. I immediately told him to fuck off and not to fucking touch me. My reasoning here is that if I say FUCK loudly enough on a train in Russia, the whole car is going to stop and stare. Then the pressure’s on the bastard because he’s got a train-car full of witnesses watching his next move.We got off at the next stop and he did not follow us, but how fucking ridiculous is that???? What’s scary about it to me, is that this guy was not even close to being on my radar. Granted, at no moment did I feel unsafe or worried about the outcome, but the fact that I never even noticed him gets to me. I normally see every last bit of that shit and can prevent it before it happens. I was enjoying chatting with my friends like I’m supposed to be able to, and lost my vigilance. It’s bothersome for so many reasons.
I don’t quite know how to end this post.
Maybe I’ll leave it up to a professional:
“But Sasha was from Russia, where the sunsets are longer, the dawns less sudden and sentences are often left unfinished from doubt as how to best end them.”
― Virginia Woolf, Orlando