In August 1989, I was the target of profound creepiness as I walked to work. I don’t want to say more, but the incident was creepy, it was violating, and it was emotionally scarring. He never touched me – never even got out of his car. But every woman – every woman – knows that creeps don’t have to get anywhere near them in order to make a woman feel like she has no safe space. It’s what creeps do.
I walked quickly the two blocks to work, angry and disgusted and wanting to get away quickly but, you know, not make too much of a fuss. I told the receptionist, a dear friend, what had happened and said, “But since he didn’t get anywhere near me, and didn’t threaten me, I don’t even know if I should call the police.”
She picked up the phone and called the police as I ended my sentence – there would be no discussion about whether I should or shouldn’t. I’m grateful for her decisiveness.
I gave my report over the phone, and then went into the bathroom. I was starting to feel sick. And discombobulated. And frightened. And filthy, like I was covered in muck. A few minutes later, my friend came in. And slowly, other women started trickling in. Word was spreading what had happened. And 10 minutes later, we were all sitting in a circle on the bathroom floor, and they were each sharing all the times a stranger had been creepy. They all had stories – while jogging, while at the public library, while at a bar, while at a swimming pool, and on and on. And I realized they were all still affected by whatever the incident – or incidents – had been. It made me feel profoundly better to know that these women, all incredibly strong willed, all with the ability to be even more pushy than me, had all been the target of a man trying to reduce them, trying to humiliate them, delighting in hurting them.
They were all adamant that I had done the right thing in calling the police, and that my feelings, all of them, were absolutely valid. I will love them all to my dying day for their understanding and compassion.
All of this came back today, more than 30 years later, when a neighbor experienced quite an aggressive creep as she left a volunteering gig. Sadly, the police who saw the man make a sudden, illegal turn literally threw up her hands, looked amused and drove away – yes, my friend saw the police officer do this. Also sadly, no one witnessed the man being aggressive with his car, or heard him say what he said – so there’s nothing they can do. As she said, the police seemed like they had other things they’d prefer to be doing, and didn’t seem too worried about the inaction of their sister officer. Which is typical of the police of the town where I live in Oregon.
I’ve done what I can to help my friend emotionally and will continue to, always. I wish she could come back with me, in time, to that magic circle of women, and have her moment of comfort and care and affirmation from those wonderful people.
A last note about my own situation: four days later, the man who targeted me was waiting for me again in his car as I walked to work. I hurriedly ran to the guard booth of a parking garage and began screaming “Call the police, call the police!” The police came and weren’t as friendly as they had been on the phone – after all, the guy hadn’t touched me, I hadn’t even looked into the car this time as I passed, I’d just RUN. They asked me at least three times why was I so upset.
A day later, the creep who targeted me murdered a bank vice president. He abducted her a short distance from where he’d targeted me. He attempted to rape her after abducting her, she ran, and he shot her at point-blank range.
Listen to women. Hear us. And take our fear seriously.
Leave a Reply