Here are the two most memorable catcalls that I received while living in Vegas:

  1. Let’s start with the funny one. I was in the process of busing to the ballroom studio and was making my transfer from my southbound bus to my westbound one. It was a hot summer afternoon and I was daydreaming my way through my commute. I was crossing the street at Rainbow and Flamingo, completely lost in my own world. There was a guy crossing the street in the opposite direction and just as he was passing me, I realized that he had been trying to talk to me as we crossed paths. He realized that I wasn’t listening at the same moment that I did and he turned around and called after me, “Hey yo, Strawberry Shortcake!!!!” I stopped in the middle of the intersection in disbelief and laughed my way to my next bus stop.
  2. The creepiest encounter that I’ve ever had on public transit has to be this one. I was riding the Decatur bus. Background: The Decatur bus was one of the sketchiest. I never, ever took it unless I really needed to and even then I was glad to have pepper spray on me. Unfortunately, in order to graduate high school I had to take this really dumb online health class, but I had to go into a testing center three times throughout the course to take exams. And that testing center was on Decatur…hooray…. On the way back home from one of these testing days, I was sitting on the bus, not doing anything fancy. I had a giant hoodie on, sweatpants, not a trace of make up, and my high school health textbook visibly sitting on my lap. (I know none of this matters, because it doesn’t matter what I was wearing, I shouldn’t be harassed at all, but I think knowing how plain I looked makes this guy look extra stupid). I’m looking out the window, when out of my peripheral vision, I see a guy walk up to where I’m sitting and he says something. Again, I’m in my own world which means I don’t hear shit until I realize that what he said was, “Do you like my tattoo?” I look up at his face and he’s drawing his tongue up under his upper lip, licking across his top front teeth. On his upper lip, where a mustache would be, he has the word PUSSY tattooed in big Gothic print. After a moment of shock, all I could say was, “No.” He left me alone on the bus, but proceeded to transfer to my next bus with me and at that point I was terrified as shit. When he got off at the same stop where I did, close to my house, I ducked into a Starbucks and waited for someone to come pick me up. The next week, my now-ex-fiance bought me my first Swiss Army knife. Not sure how great of a solution that was in retrospect.

 

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