Plastic Bitch

I guess I just have one of those faces — trusting or friendly or something. Strangers are constantly talking to me although my mom specifically said I shouldn’t do that. My parents are from New York, so at a young age, I was taught to walk down city streets looking straight ahead, keys in hand, no eye contact with anyone.

This training came in handy when I moved from San Francisco to New York City in my mid-twenties. I had the walk down — fast and with purpose. It worked at first, but then my damn sweet face got in the way. People started talking to me. Tourists asked me for directions all the time. Then guys who were trying to hit on me would actually START WALKING WITH ME down the street. They’d introduce themselves like, “Hi, I’m Kevin, what’s your name?” and keep walking with me until I made them go away. I’m serious, this happened at least five times. A strange man would essentially start following me, but act like he was being all cute and charming — like this was a meet-cute and we were in a fucking rom-com. NOT A MEET-CUTE. NOT A ROM-COM.

One guy approached me and asked if I wanted to go to Washington Square Park with him. I said, “Oh thanks, but I just need to go home.” The rest of that sentence was “…because I have to pee so bad my bladder is about to explode.” It’s not enough that I just don’t want to go to the park with a stranger, I ALSO honestly am just trying to get to my apartment as quickly as possible so I can pee. I shouldn’t have to explain all that.

My favorite was the guy who started walking with me on my own STREET and after I kindly shut him down, got all mad and whined, “Why do you have to be SO MEAN?” Ohhhh I’m so sorry my sweet face fooled you, motherfucker. I don’t want to be your girlfriend.

When I moved to LA, the vibe was super different. Less pretend-charming guys and more straight-up catcalling. Like good ol’ fashioned makes-me-so-mad-I-want-to-set-things-on-fire catcalling. Most of that happened in Koreatown, where I lived. It’s always nice to be catcalled from a truck or a car or even right there on the street when you’re TRYING TO WALK HOME.

I also got hollered at a lot in Hollywood where I worked, but in less of a sexual harrassmenty way and more of a misguided rage sort of way. One time I was walking down Hollywood Boulevard carrying a tote bag for work and this homeless dude yelled at me, “FUCK YOUR PURSE!!” I was pretty startled and wanted to be like, “Hey man, this isn’t actually mine, it’s for work — and it’s really more of a tote bag,” but I let it go.

Another night, I was walking home from my car, tired as fuck and this homeless dude yelled at me, “PLASTIC BITCH!!” In my head I was like, “Oh come on, I’m so tired and I don’t even have that much makeup on.” I just kept walking.

So this shit happened a lot — gross dudes yelling obscenities out of car windows, homeless guys raging at me for no reason, and of course, the guy at Walgreens who asked if I wanted to go home with him. I said, “Does that ever work for you?” His friend answered, “Yeah, sometimes.”

There were also record store customers, like the middle-aged guy who was there with his parents. As I was ringing him up, Mom and Dad walked away for a second and he threw a bunch of weed over the counter at me. Like, he took weed out of this vial attached to his keychain, threw it over the counter and went, “Oops.” My eyes got really big and I pretended it didn’t happen and kept ringing up his CDs. He was like, “You smoke weed, right?” and I was like, “Um, no.” So then he awkwardly reached over the counter, took the drugs back, and returned them to the vial before his parents returned.

There was another guy who I legitimately wanted to punch in the dick. At the end of his transaction, I said, “Okay, meetcha at the end of the counter.” He smirked and said, “Oh, I thought you said you were going to meet me at my house.” I looked him square in the face and said, “Oh no, I would never do that.” We get to the end of the counter and he goes, “Never say never!” I repeat, “Never. I would NEVER do that.”

One afternoon, I was walking down Sunset Boulevard, head held high, knowing somebody was going to yell something eventually. Sure enough, this one homeless dude looked up and yelled, “Hey!” Here we go, I thought. “You kinda look like Lois Lane,” he finished. Bewildered, I said, “Um, thanks man!” before continuing down the street. It was the third time I’d heard it that week, so I guess it must be true.

Sometimes it’s funny (like the Lois Lane guy) and sometimes it’s scary (like the time this guy yelled “Your dress makes me wet” out his car window and I screamed back, “FUCK YOU” and then had to hide in the bushes for a half hour because I was afraid he was going to come back and shoot me). No matter what I’m wearing or what I look like or anything else, I’m never asking for it. I don’t know about you, but I just want to walk down the street in peace.