Who knew that being polite would turn into being harassed.
Today (April 15, 2013) I stepped out of the office for a moment during my lunch break, and saw a man with his bike. He looked like he was trying to get into the building, so I held the door for him and asked if he needed help with the door. He said he wasn’t trying to get into the building, and thanked me regardless.
This is where things took a change from good to bad.
His thanking me turned into, “You are a beautiful black queen.”
“I only accept compliments from men I know,” I said.
“You are a beautiful black queen,” he repeated.
“I don’t feel comfortable with random men that I don’t know talking to me that way,” I said.
“You are a beautiful black queen,” he once again, like a broken record, repeats.
I then remembered that I had some copies of the newest Stop Street Harassment flyer in my purse, and I pulled one out.
“Take this flyer,” I said. He backed away from the flyer as if it had cooties. The tables were turned.
“This flyer will show you why I don’t like being talked to in that way,” I said. He refused to take the flyer.
“You are a beautiful black queen,” he said. Are you fucking kidding me?! I was wondering if this guy was on something, because there looked like there was nothing going on in his eyes. He then pulls out a bag of Cheetos and starts snacking on them.
“Take the flyer,” I said. I started to become a broken record.
“You are a beautiful black queen,” he repeats.
“Take the flyer.”
“You are a beautiful black queen.”
“Take the flyer.”
“You are a beautiful black queen.”
“TAKE…THE…FLYER,” I said, this time through gritted teeth. All politeness I’d shown this man earlier had gone out the door. You want to force something on me—your unwanted compliment—I’ll force something on you right back—an anti-street harassment flyer!
Then this clown says something that’s beyond belief: “I’m going to force you to marry me and make you my beautiful black queen.” Ew! Hell no! What use do I have for some scrub on the street with ashy, Cheeto-covered fingers?! Hell no! I just couldn’t get over him saying he was going to “force” me to marry him. Gross!
I stood my ground, and remained a broken record. “Take the flyer,” I said, keeping firm.
He starts to give. “Will this make me a better black man?” he asks. Man, the hell if I know!
“Yes it will,” I said, just to shut him up. He finally takes the flyer. I’m sure he called me a “beautiful black queen” one more time, but I continued on towards my destination. And I doubt he bothered to read it, but the action of making him take it was good enough for me.
When I returned to my office building, I had a plan to call for one of the guys from the office to meet me outside in case that clown was still hanging out there, but he had gone, thank god.
I am tired of being objectified by black men like this guy because we’re the same race. I never know which one will assume that my politeness is a green light for them to harass me. When that guy kept calling me a “beautiful black queen,” it didn’t make me feel beautiful. It made me feel singled out, awkward, and uncomfortable. A random man on the street calling me “beautiful” means nothing, but if it were to come from someone that I knew and had a relationship with, it would be of more value than gold.
But I pat myself on the back for giving that harasser a taste of his own medicine. You try to force your unwanted thoughts onto me, I’ll force my anti-street harassment views right back at you.
– Anonymous
Location: McPherson Square area (Washington, DC)
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