Entry 10

I’m ready to admit it: what started as a “travel blog,” has turned into a weird vanity project. Anyone who reads this will know all about my mental health, my slight obsession with cobblestone, and my political views. When I think about it, I’m a little bit embarrassed, especially when I go back and take note of how many “I”s are in every entry. But I guess… I mean, I guess it’s mine, so what the fuck, right? You can just not read it if you don’t care for it, no one will think less of you.

All this is to say, here comes another entry about me… I found a soap box, and I have an issue that matters to me, and some context to hopefully make it matter to you.

Friday night I was hired to babysit someone’s kid. The family lives in Germany, and the public transportation between the Netherlands and Germany is total shit, so I had to look closely into train and bus times to make sure I’d be able to make it there and back. I got there with no trouble at all. It was such a lovely day — ridiculously sunny, but I still got away with wearing a light sweater. (That is my favorite thing.) The babysitting job was utterly uneventful. (Alliteration. My other favorite thing.)

I left their home and walked the 300 yards to the train station. This is when I switch to present tense, because this story is much easier to tell that way.

I’m at the train station, it’s an amazing night, ruined for me by anxiety — I just realized the ticket I bought earlier is a single trip, not return, but the train is due in 2 minutes, and I don’t have time to go to the other side of the tracks to buy another ticket. The fine for riding with no ticket is 60 euro, which would put me at a 15 euro loss for the evening. Holy shit, what luck, the automated ghost voice announces that the train is 5 minutes late. AND, I’ve just discovered that there’s a ticket machine on my side of the tracks. I buy the ticket, board the train. The train at night is so surreal. Almost empty. Dark windows. Small vibrations under my feet. So much blue light that it’s like living inside an old television.

I get off the train at Aachen Schanz, the same place I got on, hours ago. I go to the bus stop my phone told me to go to, directly across the street from where I got off. This might seem redundant, but I promise it’s relevant. It’s relevant because, after an hour of sitting at the bus stop, 3 buses have come and gone, and none of them are the one I need. Number 50, where the FUCK are you? I text my dad, asking him to look up what time the last 50 leaves Aachen, because — FUN FACT — you need a special phone plan to have data in a country you don’t live in, and interestingly enough, I do not have that plan. However, it is now 12:20, and I know there’s very little chance he’s awake. I wait until 12:45 before deciding it’s time to throw in the towel. I’m stuck in Aachen for the night. I go into a night shop for a pack of smokes and determine that the main train station is likely the safest place to hang out until the buses start running in the morning.

I walk there, with minimal difficulty. (Google maps can pick up where I am, but won’t tell me how to get where I’m going, so I just have to kind of guess.) I get 2 beers at another night shop, find a well-lit spot, and set my ass down to listen to the 20 or so podcasts I have on my phone that I haven’t listened to yet. About an hour goes by, everything is dandy, The Nerdist is fulfilling all of my entertainment needs, and I have good German beer. An older gentleman saunters by a couple of times, but I divert my eyes to my phone and pretend to be super occupied. I go a full Nerdist podcast without seeing him, and then he returns to my line of sight…

…oh no… oh god… please don’t… is he?… he is.

He sits next to me. Let me be clear. There are 3 benches where I’m sitting, each about 10 feet long. 2 are completely empty, and I’m sitting on one. He sits 3 feet away from me. He says “hallo,” I ignore him, I’m scrolling through my phone. “Entschuldigen,” I’m still scrolling. I’m even furrowing my brows at something I’m not reading. He repeats himself louder, and I shrug the headphone off my left ear. He asks me where I’m going in German, and I pretend not to understand. Sadly, he speaks English and asks again.

“I’m going home,” I say, trying to be curt.
“Where is that? Where do you live?” My exhausted brain scrambles, “Vaals,” I say. It’s the first place I can come up with, but the lies makes my life more difficult.
“Vaals? That is not far. Why don’t we walk?”
“No. I’m good. I’m going to wait for my bus.”

He looks at his lap for a moment, then out to the street, “Well, I have a car. It is not even 10 minutes away, let’s go.”
“No thanks, I’m going to wait for my bus.” He scoffs, “I came to pick up someone here, but they are not here. I take you. What’s your name?”
I resolve to be more firm, “My name is Rose. I am waiting for my bus. I have everything I need, I’m fine.”

“Well, at least, let’s go get drinks, while you wait.”
I gesture to my beer, “I have a drink, thank you.”
“Ahhh, but that is only one drink, it is not enough. Look, we go get drinks, my home is not so far, you can stay there.”
I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me. Why am I being nice to this person who won’t leave me alone?
“No. I will wait for my bus.”
“You’re so nice. I like meeting new friends. So many people don’t say anything. Let’s go get a drink.”
“I have a drink, I’m staying here.”

He asks where I’m from, I tell him I’m from Texas. In this moment, I’m Rose from Texas, who lives in Vaals. And I still don’t feel safe.

“Well, where do you live in Vaals? Maybe sometime I come, we go get dinner, we get drinks, and I stay there.”
“No thank you. I have enough friends.”

Why am I still listening? Why haven’t I slipped my headphone back over my ear?
Because, even though the area is well-lit… even though there are people walking back and forth at regular intervals… even though I’ve seen cops drive by in the last 5 minutes… it’s not enough. Assault doesn’t take any time at all. Assault doesn’t stop because there are witnesses. So I play along, hoping my coldness will eventually drive him off.

“No, no. It’s fine. Listen. You come with me, we’ll get beers, we’ll go stay at my house. Why are you being like this?”
I laugh in spite of myself, “I don’t know… I guess I was taught to play it safe.”
“I am not a criminal, what is the problem? You come with me.”
“I am staying RIGHT HERE. I’m not leaving. Not with you, not with any other stranger I meet outside the train station in the middle of the night.”
As I say this, I’m staring at my phone again, because the words take all of my confidence. Out of the corner of my eye, I can tell that his body language is suggesting he’s about to leave.

Let’s all take a moment to be really grateful that he gave me wonderful parting words -
“I thought you were nice. But you are a bitch.”

And now, a letter:

Dear dudes, I have no statistics to back this up, but I can guarantee that so many times — when you think a girl is busy… When she’s writing, when she’s looking at her phone, when she’s laughing at a phone conversation — she’s not doing anything at all… other than praying you’ll leave her alone, because she rarely feels safe on her own in public.