Catcalling: How do I unsubscribe?

Today, I was catcalled. It was definitely not the first time and unfortunately it will not be the last. I was half asleep, walking to the subway to get to work and it was 6:10am. As I crossed the street, a car made a dead stop in the middle of the intersection, honked at me, a low voice yelled “hey baby” and then the car drove off. It all happened in about 45 seconds and then it was over. But really it wasn’t. I went from groggy and under caffeinated to terrified, filled with adrenaline and still under caffeinated. I walked faster, kept my head down and eyes alert checking my surroundings every few steps a little on edge. 45 seconds changed a lot. All in the name of what? A compliment?

Typically, I’d make a joke and try to just put it out of my mind but I’m a little tired of sweeping it under the proverbial rug which at this point could be classified as a mountain in Florida. We are expected to shrug and brush it off or “take the compliment” and just continue on like nothing’s happened. But it’s bullshit. Best case scenario, I’m annoyed. More likely scenario, I’m legitimately concerned for my safety and well being. Compliments shouldn’t go hand in hand with a mental note to buy some mace on Amazon.

We live in a culture of opinions and ratings and reviews. And that doesn’t stop with Yelp. By walking out of my door in the morning I am not accepting the “terms and conditions” that from that point on everyone is allowed to take a look, have an opinion and shout it at me whenever they feel like it. I don’t need you to tell me I’m beautiful. I have James Blunt for that! If you want me to smile, then tell a joke — preferably one that I haven’t heard before. New jokes aside, what I do really need you to do is get the hell out of my way and let me go run my god damn errands. Target knick knacks won’t buy themselves.

I try really hard to not let it control my life and the choices I make, from what I wear, to where I go, or how I act. But the burden should not be mine alone. Feel the need to say something to me? How about instead of a creepy “oye mami” or “smile, sweety” you could hold open a door for me when I’m strong-arming 15 bags of groceries because I refuse to make two trips. Or you can say bless you if I sneeze. Or better yet? Do and say nothing at all. I do not need you validating how I look or how I act. I do not need to know how you think my ass looks in these jeans! If I want your opinion, I promise I’ll ask. Pinky swear. But let’s be honest, I know my ass looks good so there’s no real reason for me to bring it up either.