I marched a few blocks away from the festival. I was hoping to stroll down Irving St. to score some pho. Unfortunately, before I could even make it from 35th to 31st, I ran into some pale dude who wouldn’t get out of my way. He seemed a little wired and a lot slow.
After following me despite my frequent and obvious pace changes, he blathered about how he couldn’t get into OSL because his wristband blinked red. He asked if I were coming from OSL. I informed him I was in fact leaving because I didn’t feel like being around people. Translation: GO AWAY. He didn’t take the hint. I found a street with people walking around, turned onto it, and dismissed him with a, “Welp, have a nice day.”
While the Sunset District is usually a mellow, residential area, I was sketched out and no longer in the mood for the trek to Iriving St. I decided to uberPOOL back to my house. No pho for me. That creep had no idea how much he had just inconvenienced my life. Now my only option was delivery – AKA limited food choices with extra fees. He should at least compensate my delivery charge.
As I cursed that bumbling lummox for costing me an extra $5, I plopped down on the curb to await my freshly ordered POOL. It was five minutes away.
When the wait time got down to minute four, a different man – some chunky, chump with graying hair on a bike – came by and started rambling at me. He kept trying to ask me personal questions. He was convinced he knew me from somewhere else. He repeatedly asked if I had a boyfriend. I told him I didn’t want to talk and that it wasn’t his business. He told me I was messed up. He said I had problems. He claimed “those other times” when he had supposedly seen me, I was upset and “messed up” for ignoring him.
He asked me where I was from. He guessed NYC, Boston, and Brooklyn. He claimed I was lying when I said no to all. He demanded I tell him where I was from, so I said, “Mars.” He laughed, “You one of those girls? You like that other girl. But you not as thick. I’ll have to see you stand up.” I told him he was making me feel uncomfortable. He kept talking and eagerly began asking if I had been drinking.
My phone was glued to my hand, and my eyes were glued to my phone. I anxiously watched as my Uber inefficiently traversed the map, moving in a manner reminiscent of a hopeless game of Snake. The minutes kept increasing. FUCKING OSL! Where was my chariot? The longer I sat there, the more he talked, and the more uncomfortable I felt.
When my Uber was two minutes away, I started to feel an adrenaline rush, the kind you only feel when you truly sense danger. The situation was escalating. He was starting to murmur theories about what sex things he thought I was into, what type of guys I like (which tbh, is kind of funny seeing as I am literally writing an entry for a sex blog right now). An Indian couple passed by, he said, “I bet you into those Indians. Too young though. You like ’em older, huh? You like – mur mur mur.” I tried to tune out most of what he was saying, but his hostility was rising. I didn’t know how to keep him content with the verbal abuse and away from the physical. I tried ignoring, engaging, and then ignoring again to distract him. I needed to bide my time until the cab arrived.
One minute left. My Uber appeared just in time. I jumped up, walked away, and disappeared into a yellow sedan. Had it taken much longer, I’m not sure what would have happened.
Once safely seated and buckled up, I turned to the two other girls in my POOL and in a grunge-girl rage asked, “Are you from here?” They said no. They were from Berkeley. I continued, “Well -!” and gave them a synopsis of my brief encounters. They responded with some accounts of their own.