Nighttime Streets of Piccadilly Circus
Miranda Carr: 20 year old student at UCL
My two best girls, Allie and Madison, and I were looking for a regular night out, just the three of us, when we made the acquaintance of a particularly enthusiastic club advertiser. Of course, it’s his job to be obnoxious, so his initial approach wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. He partially blocked our path, asking us to stop by the club just a few yards down; I politely declined, explaining we were just looking to eat, and we continued walking. He fell right in behind us, imploring us to go check out the club. We continued to ignore him. A nice, typical pub had caught Allie’s eye just past the ad man’s post, so we tried to edge around him and see if they were still serving food. Just our luck — when we tried the door it was locked. Our fellow took this as his opportunity to corner us up against the doorway and explain that even though the pub was already closed, we could still go to his “very nice” club for a drink and some “great” music. I again explained we were looking for food, not drinks, and we all brushed past him as we made our way down the sidewalk, now in a more frantic search of a restaurant. Maddie was bringing up the rear, and he began calling out to her specifically as we passed under the flashing gleams of the giant corner billboards.
He shouted after Maddie as we hurried straight toward the center of the plaza: “Why are you such a weirdo? You won’t even look at me, you weirdo!”Now we were just trying to get away from him. We nervous-laughed our way down into the Tube, unnerved enough to head home in search of some more familiar eats.
The Rising Sun: Your Friendly Neighborhood Pub
Allison Henkins: 22 year old Irish student on holiday
I was waiting at the table with my girlfriends and my things while she went up to the bar to order her food and drink. We’d been to pubs like this loads of times. Usually they’re playing rugby or football on the telly, and our guys are big fans. That night we were just out on our own, though, and I noticed just a second too late that a really dodgy, old-looking guy had approached her. I hopped up out of my seat and came to her aid under the ruse of ordering my own drink.
“Excuse me, so sorry to interrupt,” the old guy said, as she tried to finish ordering her food and pay the bill. He was leaning forward and shuffling closer to her with each phrase, being plain creepy. He mumbled something else by way of apology as she tried to sign her receipt and collect her drink and then jumped in with his far-higher-than-expected voice again as she started to turn away, toward me.
“I just wanted to ask your name, you have such a really lovely smile.” He said, showing the grayed teeth lining his slimy gums. She told him her name and thanked him, but he was already talking over her again.
“I actually came over here because my friend, over there,” he gestured to a table at which sat a younger man glued to his phone — obviously aware of his companion’s interjection on his part — “Thinks you’re really quite good looking. And I do too by the way! But we wanted to know if you’d just come sit with us for a bit, you really do have such a great smile.”
She had hardly gotten her polite refusal out when he continued.
“Oh really, just sit with us for a moment, it’s no big deal.”
Again she shook her head, explaining that we had boyfriends and she really couldn’t.
“Oh of course you have a boyfriend. I’m sure you do, a girl as good looking as you. But I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you just joined us for a bit.”
She kept shaking her head, beginning a third refusal, when I stepped forward to offer my support.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “but I’m here with my friend and we’re sitting together. Thanks for the offer though.” With that, he mumbled the same sort of apology he began with and shuffled back to his table as we made our way back to ours.
Had that been the end of it, we all could have gone away unbothered. Sure, the old man continued past her first refusal, but it would have been forgettable, a regular invasion of our space, but one that wouldn’t be particularly memorable.
Instead, the man, and his then-growing table of loud, rugby-loving friends, moved tables to sit closer to us. They sat just so they could watch us as they finished their drinks. No other advances were made, no other words were exchanged, but the feeling of eating our food under the gaze of strangers trained on us wasn’t particularly pleasant.
Early Afternoon Crosswalks Between Bloomsbury & Oxford Street
Jenny King: 19 year old local/student
I was walking to a dentist appointment around early afternoon on a Sunday. Given the sunshine outside and the fact that I had found serious runs and rips in my last pair of tights, I decided to wear a loose shirtdress and go bare-legged, even though my mum told me I was nuts. I assumed I’d be a bit chilly on my walk over, but it would be quick, and then I could pick up new tights on my way home. Over my shirtdress I wore my large, navy blue, wool winter coat, complete with a large scarf for good measure, in an attempt to balance out the cold I would be subjecting my legs to.
My lack of tights and potential chill aside, I set off for my appointment without any real thought as to my appearance. I had gotten ready as usual: showered, styled my hair to dry curly, applied makeup, etc. It wasn’t until I caught my first few lingering stares of the morning that I realized my stockingless legs were attracting serious attention. Of course, I ignored it as best I could, staring ahead, straight-faced, as men gave me a once-over or smiled while their eyes shot straight to my uncovered legs. I couldn’t quite believe that they were really all that alluring — all the skin they could see was from my knee to just above my ankles — much less were they worth such looks, but it only got more ridiculous from there.
On one street corner in particular, I began to feel uneasy as I stood waiting for the traffic light to change. I felt like the longer I stood still, the easier it would be for someone to notice my legs (and of course, it was also freezing outside). Then, lo and behold, a black cab whipped around the corner, the cabbie hanging out of his half-down window. I watched as the whole world seemed to move in slow motion — the young-ish man sat up tall in his seat and whistled out the window, honking his car horn and yelling “Nice legs!” as he drove past. I stared ahead, steely, and kept up my brisk pace.
The next time I had to stop at a street corner I was again prepared for the worst. I looked down and hoped that no one would call attention to me; it felt like this walk was never-ending already. I was jolted out of my close examination of the pavement by two loud honks. An approaching construction-van driver was leaning his head out of his window, looking me over, just as the light changed for him to cross the intersection. I decided to keep walking and wait to cross later, picking up my pace as I continued down the road. To my surprise, instead of driving off ahead, the driver slammed on his brakes — stopping traffic and nearly causing the cabbie behind him to crash into his bumper — and called out to me from the window of his car.
“Ey good-lookin’, bloody sexy legs you ‘ave ‘ere!”
My first reaction was to stop in shock. This driver had just backed up his entire lane of traffic all for a single lewd sentence directed at a stranger. Realizing the man had no intention of speeding back up to continue on his way, I scowled at him and kept walking. Roughly two more whistles and three or four more comments were made before I finally made it to the dentist’s door. I didn’t even bother to try counting the stares. By the time I was inside and sitting down, I couldn’t contain my relief at being out of the sight of the general public. Not only were the men’s leers insulting and embarrassing, but there was nothing I could do at that point to solve the problem.
The Local Primark a Bit After Rush Hour
Caroline O’Malley: 24 year old English Teacher
One of my colleagues, Laurie, and I always pass right by the Oxford Street Primark on our route home. It was a Tuesday evening and both of us had a few things to pick up, but we weren’t interested in spending a long time in the store. It’s always so crowded with women and families in the evenings. As we made our way to the escalators from the first floor, Laurie was forced to walk a bit closer to an older gentleman making his way alongside us to avoid hitting a very pregnant woman and her toddler-filled stroller coming in the opposite direction. As we made our way in front of the older man, her hand brushed against his shopping bag. It went nearly unnoticed by her, and it was definitely missed by the rest of us.
The man yelled after us as we continued toward the escalator. “WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT, STUPID WOMAN!”
It took the “stupid woman” bit to catch my attention, I hadn’t quite believed he was talking to us until just then. I began to turn around, but I realized he was still fuming under his breath — something about “Daft stupid women being blind” — and I decided to focus straight ahead, trying to ignore him completely. Upon reaching the safety of the second floor, we both conferred on what had just happened, and tried to shake it off. Laurie demonstrated what happened between her hand-brush and the man’s bag, and we tried to laugh about it, but we were a bit more quiet than usual until we parted ways at Goodge Street on our way home.
Miranda Carr: 20 year old student at UCL
My two best girls, Allie and Madison, and I were looking for a regular night out, just the three of us, when we made the acquaintance of a particularly enthusiastic club advertiser. Of course, it’s his job to be obnoxious, so his initial approach wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. He partially blocked our path, asking us to stop by the club just a few yards down; I politely declined, explaining we were just looking to eat, and we continued walking. He fell right in behind us, imploring us to go check out the club. We continued to ignore him. A nice, typical pub had caught Allie’s eye just past the ad man’s post, so we tried to edge around him and see if they were still serving food. Just our luck — when we tried the door it was locked. Our fellow took this as his opportunity to corner us up against the doorway and explain that even though the pub was already closed, we could still go to his “very nice” club for a drink and some “great” music. I again explained we were looking for food, not drinks, and we all brushed past him as we made our way down the sidewalk, now in a more frantic search of a restaurant. Maddie was bringing up the rear, and he began calling out to her specifically as we passed under the flashing gleams of the giant corner billboards.
He shouted after Maddie as we hurried straight toward the center of the plaza: “Why are you such a weirdo? You won’t even look at me, you weirdo!”Now we were just trying to get away from him. We nervous-laughed our way down into the Tube, unnerved enough to head home in search of some more familiar eats.
The Rising Sun: Your Friendly Neighborhood Pub
Allison Henkins: 22 year old Irish student on holiday
I was waiting at the table with my girlfriends and my things while she went up to the bar to order her food and drink. We’d been to pubs like this loads of times. Usually they’re playing rugby or football on the telly, and our guys are big fans. That night we were just out on our own, though, and I noticed just a second too late that a really dodgy, old-looking guy had approached her. I hopped up out of my seat and came to her aid under the ruse of ordering my own drink.
“Excuse me, so sorry to interrupt,” the old guy said, as she tried to finish ordering her food and pay the bill. He was leaning forward and shuffling closer to her with each phrase, being plain creepy. He mumbled something else by way of apology as she tried to sign her receipt and collect her drink and then jumped in with his far-higher-than-expected voice again as she started to turn away, toward me.
“I just wanted to ask your name, you have such a really lovely smile.” He said, showing the grayed teeth lining his slimy gums. She told him her name and thanked him, but he was already talking over her again.
“I actually came over here because my friend, over there,” he gestured to a table at which sat a younger man glued to his phone — obviously aware of his companion’s interjection on his part — “Thinks you’re really quite good looking. And I do too by the way! But we wanted to know if you’d just come sit with us for a bit, you really do have such a great smile.”
She had hardly gotten her polite refusal out when he continued.
“Oh really, just sit with us for a moment, it’s no big deal.”
Again she shook her head, explaining that we had boyfriends and she really couldn’t.
“Oh of course you have a boyfriend. I’m sure you do, a girl as good looking as you. But I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you just joined us for a bit.”
She kept shaking her head, beginning a third refusal, when I stepped forward to offer my support.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “but I’m here with my friend and we’re sitting together. Thanks for the offer though.” With that, he mumbled the same sort of apology he began with and shuffled back to his table as we made our way back to ours.
Had that been the end of it, we all could have gone away unbothered. Sure, the old man continued past her first refusal, but it would have been forgettable, a regular invasion of our space, but one that wouldn’t be particularly memorable.
Instead, the man, and his then-growing table of loud, rugby-loving friends, moved tables to sit closer to us. They sat just so they could watch us as they finished their drinks. No other advances were made, no other words were exchanged, but the feeling of eating our food under the gaze of strangers trained on us wasn’t particularly pleasant.
Early Afternoon Crosswalks Between Bloomsbury & Oxford Street
Jenny King: 19 year old local/student
I was walking to a dentist appointment around early afternoon on a Sunday. Given the sunshine outside and the fact that I had found serious runs and rips in my last pair of tights, I decided to wear a loose shirtdress and go bare-legged, even though my mum told me I was nuts. I assumed I’d be a bit chilly on my walk over, but it would be quick, and then I could pick up new tights on my way home. Over my shirtdress I wore my large, navy blue, wool winter coat, complete with a large scarf for good measure, in an attempt to balance out the cold I would be subjecting my legs to.
My lack of tights and potential chill aside, I set off for my appointment without any real thought as to my appearance. I had gotten ready as usual: showered, styled my hair to dry curly, applied makeup, etc. It wasn’t until I caught my first few lingering stares of the morning that I realized my stockingless legs were attracting serious attention. Of course, I ignored it as best I could, staring ahead, straight-faced, as men gave me a once-over or smiled while their eyes shot straight to my uncovered legs. I couldn’t quite believe that they were really all that alluring — all the skin they could see was from my knee to just above my ankles — much less were they worth such looks, but it only got more ridiculous from there.
On one street corner in particular, I began to feel uneasy as I stood waiting for the traffic light to change. I felt like the longer I stood still, the easier it would be for someone to notice my legs (and of course, it was also freezing outside). Then, lo and behold, a black cab whipped around the corner, the cabbie hanging out of his half-down window. I watched as the whole world seemed to move in slow motion — the young-ish man sat up tall in his seat and whistled out the window, honking his car horn and yelling “Nice legs!” as he drove past. I stared ahead, steely, and kept up my brisk pace.
The next time I had to stop at a street corner I was again prepared for the worst. I looked down and hoped that no one would call attention to me; it felt like this walk was never-ending already. I was jolted out of my close examination of the pavement by two loud honks. An approaching construction-van driver was leaning his head out of his window, looking me over, just as the light changed for him to cross the intersection. I decided to keep walking and wait to cross later, picking up my pace as I continued down the road. To my surprise, instead of driving off ahead, the driver slammed on his brakes — stopping traffic and nearly causing the cabbie behind him to crash into his bumper — and called out to me from the window of his car.
“Ey good-lookin’, bloody sexy legs you ‘ave ‘ere!”
My first reaction was to stop in shock. This driver had just backed up his entire lane of traffic all for a single lewd sentence directed at a stranger. Realizing the man had no intention of speeding back up to continue on his way, I scowled at him and kept walking. Roughly two more whistles and three or four more comments were made before I finally made it to the dentist’s door. I didn’t even bother to try counting the stares. By the time I was inside and sitting down, I couldn’t contain my relief at being out of the sight of the general public. Not only were the men’s leers insulting and embarrassing, but there was nothing I could do at that point to solve the problem.
The Local Primark a Bit After Rush Hour
Caroline O’Malley: 24 year old English Teacher
One of my colleagues, Laurie, and I always pass right by the Oxford Street Primark on our route home. It was a Tuesday evening and both of us had a few things to pick up, but we weren’t interested in spending a long time in the store. It’s always so crowded with women and families in the evenings. As we made our way to the escalators from the first floor, Laurie was forced to walk a bit closer to an older gentleman making his way alongside us to avoid hitting a very pregnant woman and her toddler-filled stroller coming in the opposite direction. As we made our way in front of the older man, her hand brushed against his shopping bag. It went nearly unnoticed by her, and it was definitely missed by the rest of us.
The man yelled after us as we continued toward the escalator. “WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT, STUPID WOMAN!”
It took the “stupid woman” bit to catch my attention, I hadn’t quite believed he was talking to us until just then. I began to turn around, but I realized he was still fuming under his breath — something about “Daft stupid women being blind” — and I decided to focus straight ahead, trying to ignore him completely. Upon reaching the safety of the second floor, we both conferred on what had just happened, and tried to shake it off. Laurie demonstrated what happened between her hand-brush and the man’s bag, and we tried to laugh about it, but we were a bit more quiet than usual until we parted ways at Goodge Street on our way home.
About Ashling
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