I left work early on Thursday, due to the copious amounts of phlegm moving through my respiratory system. I was miserable, so I decided to give up and go home.
It was the lunch hour, and the streets were crowded with pedestrians. I was making my way through the crush of people on 15th street when I got that weird sense of having my personal space invaded. I promptly ignored the feeling, because it was a busy street in the city. Duh.
And then I felt someone step on the back of my heel, the way that clumsy kid behind you would do sometimes when you were walking in line in primary school. I didn't think much of it at first - crowded street, people hurrying, some of them careless: it happens. But I cast a glance over my shoulder anyway, just to see who the klutz was. And then I realized that a man was following thisclose behind me; he was so close he was literally touching me. Now, the streets were crowded but not THAT crowded, and I immediately panicked. I pulled my purse around to the front of my body, and picked up the pace. I darted around a few people until I was sure I had lost him and chalked it up to some guy walking around high or absentminded, or just some typical Philadelphia racial power play, a cowardly attempt to intimidate a little white girl.
And then. And then! I saw the guy jogging up from behind me and jog up ahead of me. Well, this was odd. But I figured hey, I guess he's just in a preoccupied hurry. Until he stepped to the side of the crowd and stopped, waiting for me to pass. And as soon as I had passed, he stepped in line behind me, following on my heels as tight as ever.
I was sick, tired, and not in the mood for games, intimidation, or whatever else. So I stopped cold, turned around, and said in the tone of voice I learned only after moving to the city (because a nice surburban Mennonite girl never has need for this tone of voice, except for maybe on the phone with insurance companies or Verizon customer service)
"What the hell is your problem?!?"
And he said:
"You're not going to hit me, are you?"
I guessed that I was not the first girl he'd pulled this stunt on, but that I was probably by far one of the more polite ones in my confrontation. I didn't say no, because I wasn't yet sure whether I was going to have to hit him or not.
"Why are you following me like that?" I asked, still with my angry face and tough-girl accent.
"Well excuse me but you are gorgeous and can I get your name?"
I don't give my name to guys on the street; if they are relentless and I am feeling nice, I will give them a fake name to make them go away. But this guy had me spooked; he was shifting his weight from foot to foot, and not only was he not making eye contact but his eyes had that distinct unfocused quality which signals substance use.
"I have a boyfriend" I said curtly, thinking this was the kind way to directly end the conversation.
"I have a boyfriend? So if I see you around, then I just say, 'Hey, I have a boyfriend! How you doin', I have a boyfriend. You're lookin good, I have a boyfriend.'"
I just sort of stared at him.
"Yes, that's my name. And my boyfriend's name is 'I will break your kneecaps.' Now I have to go, excuse me."
And I cut down Chestnut Street abruptly, leaving him at the intersection a little more confused than he was already thanks to his drug of choice.
I was a little shaken and confused myself. There are all kinds of odd people in a city; some of them harmless, some of them not. It's enough to make a girl want to be invisible sometimes...