Keys Like Wolverine Claws, Pepper Spray at the Ready

TW: sexual assault, sexual harassment, rape

[I’ve gone through a lot of mental back and forth about this post, but my brain can’t stop thinking about it, so here we are.]

Greetings from page 124 of Know My Name by Chanel Miller. I’m 5 chapters into this memoir, and I’m not kidding when I say I’ve cried through most of it. Reading not only through Chanel’s experience with the legalities of the trial and her pain from the assault but her every day experiences she (and every woman I know) has with men randomly catcalling or hitting on her. The way she is over it all, the way she screamed at them or chased their cars. The way that it’s an every single day thing she deals with. Every. Single. Day.

This book breaks my heart a lot.

I remember when the Brock Turner case first started making headlines. I was a first year at Cal Poly—the same school Chanel’s sister was still attending at the time. I’d known about rape and sexual assault, of course. I’d experienced plenty of harassment. But walking into a school where every quarter a fraternity had been put on probation for sexual assault…where it was all right in front of me all the time? It was different. It was all right there on display. I tried to be so hyper-aware of everything, every second of every day, but I still felt powerless. 

Another quarter of classes, another fraternity on probation, another update about fucking Brock Turner. To be honest, it seemed like everyone was so desensitized by it, sexual assault was something that happened all the time. We talked in depth about it during first year orientation, we went over it within our sororities. I remember the outcries of my friends and peers on social media, but I never saw anything really change. It’s frustrating to say the very least.

I look at the way this case turned out, and I’ll never stop being angry about it in some way. I’ll never forget last summer, when we’d been in COVID lockdown several months, the tweets reminding us how fucked up it was: “we’ve now been in lockdown for longer than Brock Turner was in jail.” Here we still are.

The same week I picked up this book, something happened to me. Nothing new, nothing I’ve never been through. It’s not nearly the magnitude, and a lot of people might say I’m overreacting. In a way, sure okay. But it’s significantly changed a routine I’ve now kept for over a year. In a time where routine of any kind means everything, it sucks to say the least.

Every Friday since pretty early on in the pandemic (give or take), I’ve gone to the same coffee shop for a fancy cold brew and a muffin. It’s my favorite Friday thing. Routine, chatting with the baristas, becoming a regular, and ya know, coffee. The shop is on a busy street, so I always park around the corner on the residential street, no biggie. There’s an office-type building on the corner, and every once in a while, there are a couple of guys who stand out there for a smoke break. Usually I walk in the street when they’re there, ‘cause COVID, and usually, they don’t talk to me. I’ve gotten a “hi” once or twice, but it’s in the same way that you’d smile at a stranger on the street.

Last week, though, there was more than the normal one or two guys, and when I walked by, one of them spoke to me.

“Hey, can I add you on Snapchat?”

My brain sprinted through different answers like “I don’t have one.” I’ve used the “I have a boyfriend” line before, so I could throw it out now. But instead, I just said, “No.”

I shouldn’t have to give any excuse, shouldn’t need to be attached to a boyfriend to be respected. A simple no should suffice, right?

“Oh…Facebook?”

Again, still walking away, looking at my phone, “No.”

And then I rounded the corner, I walked into the shop, talked to my sister’s friend who works there, got my coffee. I wondered if I should walk all the way around the block back to my car so I didn’t have to talk to him. I wanted to believe he’d just leave me alone, but I knew, I knew, that he’d have something else to say when I came back.

But now I told myself no, I shouldn’t have to change my route to avoid him. I thought about what he might say and how I’d respond. I’m a nice person most of the time, but would I have it in me to tell him to fuck off? Would he get angry? Follow me to my car? If he did, would there be anyone to help me?

I pressed down the anxiety bubble in my stomach, and I told myself it was too hot to walk all the way around the block. When I rounded the corner, they were still there on their smoke break. I kept my eyes on my phone again.

“What about MySpace?”

Again, the potential answers raced through my mind. “Can you leave me alone?” I took a pause and added an involuntary “please.” I wish I hadn’t, but unfortunately I couldn’t stop myself.

He looked taken aback but said, “Okay, sorry.” His friends, when I glanced at them ever so briefly, looked annoyed at him.

I’m a small person, and I don’t like confrontation. Whenever I leave my house, I’m afraid to stick up for myself in situations like these because I simply don’t have the power or ability to fight back if I needed to. 

That’s what it’s like every day being a woman. And that’s not even the half of it if you’re a trans woman or a woman of color.

This week I started reading Know My Name. This week I got my new favorite comfy outfit in the mail. And this week, I went for my Friday coffee run, reminding myself of this interaction.

The outfit in question is one I saw a girl wearing at Disneyland. It’s made of terrycloth and is SO CUTE. I asked her where she got it (Zara), and I sat down while my friend went to the bathroom and bought it off their website. Yes, I was several drinks in. The shorts are normal, lounge-y cut, and the top is a sports bra cut, and since it’s sweltering out here in Southern California, I wore it this Friday.

It shows some midriff, more than I normally would show, being incredibly insecure about my body and all, but it’s hot. I’ve seen girls wear less, and they look great. I could do this.

But what if that guy was out for his smoke break at the same time I was there again? He’d see this outfit like an invitation. So I brought an extra t-shirt to throw on when I got there, and I prayed that they wouldn’t be there.

I drove by, and phew, the corner was empty. Perfect! I can keep my comfortable outfit and strut anxiety-free. I parked a ways down the street and got out, but as soon as I started down the sidewalk, there they were. I stopped. Should I run? Should I brave them?

I chose to run. I got back in my car, drove around to the other cross-street, and parked there instead. I didn’t want to risk it. I didn’t want to deal with that. I got my coffee and my muffin and avoided a confrontation. A one-sided, uncomfortable conversation.

With Chanel’s story in the back of my mind, I reminded myself that we shouldn’t have to do this. We shouldn’t have to change our routes. Men shouldn’t feel entitled to hit on or catcall us, even before we say no the first time. I shouldn’t have to be afraid every time I walk out my front door.

Chanel tells her story with grace, but that doesn’t make it any less painful to read. Every woman you know has been through something like this. Unwanted attention, looks, stares, whistles, words, smirks, leering, touching, kissing, sex. From strangers, acquaintances, friends, boyfriends, husbands. And this story for me is far from the first. I’d love to say it’ll be the last.

To the guy who smokes on the corner, I hope you accept that no means no. I hope you stop trying to meet random girls on Friday mornings. I hope you mind your own freaking business. Also, guys, cigarettes? In 2021? Maybe stop that too.

I realize that it’s ignorant to say that one day I hope people can stop being ignorant. Stop with the misogyny, racism, homophobia, transphobia, etc etc. But I’m going to keep calling it out when I see it, and I hope people call me out when I need to be.

I don’t know why I’m sharing this story except that it’s on my mind, especially since starting Know My Name. I’m writing this on the second Friday in question, while still in my terrycloth outfit and drinking my english toffee cold brew. I think that the more women share their experiences, the more likely men will be to recognize their actions or their friend’s actions. You’d be surprised at how many of your friends might be like Smoke Break Guy. Catcalling and questions like his aren’t okay, even though it might come off as harmless.

I’m angry often about this. About men and misogyny and all my friends who’ve been through so much pain. I’m trying not to be angry about this right now, but it’s not easy. I spent my entire drive home trying not to cry. Last week I did the same. And it’s not easy to bounce back from. Even when I’m smiling or laughing, it’s still on my mind, lurking. An evil ghost in the shadows, following me around. How are you supposed to hide from it? How do you block out the noise? I’ve reached the bottom of a lot of ice cream cartons trying to figure out how to turn my brain off from it.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go back to my Know My Name companion book for when I need a little break: my favorite summer beach read YA romance The Summer I Turned Pretty by Jenny Han. Also my work emails.

Men, watch yourselves.