I’ve spent the last two days coordinating a large conference at my university in London. This evening was the conference dinner, which included a nice public thank you and bunch of flowers for my work, so I was feeling pretty happy after a productive day.
Maybe creepy guys have some in-built monitor that tells them a woman’s had a good day and deserves to have it spoiled: I was two stops from home on the Piccadilly line when I noticed that the young guy next to me is turned right round staring into my face. I turn to face him with a death stare, at which point most normal people feel some embarrassment and look away.
Not so this one, who just carried on staring with such intensity that I had to ask him twice if he had a problem, at which point he took offense and looked away with a moody, “No!”
When I got off (he luckily wasn’t getting off at the same stop) he stared at me through the window with a look of real hatred and put his fingers to his head in some weird amalgamation of giving me the finger and making the symbol for a gun. Because, yes, it’s MY fault that you were caught being a creepy weirdo and MY fault that you can’t behave like a normal goddamn person.
– Jen
Location: Piccadilly line, Finsbury Park, London
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beckie says
how mean. I’m glad you called him on it!!!