the dudes are back (to being really gross)

Now that we’re out and about again (sort of), the dudes are back to being really gross.

At a music event in Everett, a pleasant night on the waterfront listening to a funk band, an old guy in a stars-and-stripes hat grabbed my arm. Your coat looks like a muppet, he slurred. I backed away, just looking at him. He circled to my other side and took my other arm. A muppet, he repeated, in case I’d missed his brilliant witticism. I backed the other way, pulling free, wishing I could scream, Get your fucking hand off me you drunk asshole. But I said nothing and he wandered back to the beer garden. It didn’t seem worth the confrontation, so I just stood there, feeling like an object, the enjoyment drained from the evening.

*

Two nights later I sat in the back of a hot bus after a long day, four stops from home. Three guys hopped in through the rear doors, laughing, one carrying an open bottle of vodka and a trumpet. The first one saw me and moved to sit beside me, even though there were four empty rows of seats. Well hello, he said, as the two other men trooped in behind him.

I got up. My instinct in these situations is to get out immediately, or risk five minutes of painfully not responding, or responding politely and noncommittally even though I'm tired and just want to go home.

Where you going, the guy said, as I edged past them.

My stop is coming up. I’ll let you all have the back, I said.

What? You just assume I’m with them? I don’t know them! the first guy said, angry now.

My bad. Sorry, I said, and hurried to the front of the bus.

The three yelled insults from the back. She’ll let us have the back. Who does she think she is. Thank you soooo much. Stupid bitch.

I sat up front, staring resolutely out the front as they got nastier. No one else spoke and I got off the bus a stop early, at a busy intersection, in case the men followed me. I shouldn’t have sat in the back after dark, was my first thought. Not: how fucking dare they?