I left my house to do some Fourth of July thrift shopping. My first stop was at the Georgia Avenue Thrift Store. I found a few things there and continued on. I caught the 70 towards Silver Spring, and sat behind this man who was trying to talk to some husky, boyish-looking woman.
"What yo' type?" he asks her.
"My type?" she asks, in disbelief. I think she said "I got a female back home" or something like that.
They said some things I couldn't hear, then the guy put his hand on her. She smacks it off.
"Don't touch me," she says.
He touches her again. She hook punches him in the arm.
"Why did you hit me?" he says. "I didn't hit you!"
"I told you not to fuckin' touch me," she says. "Touch me again and I'mma beat the shit outta you, n***a."
Now this is what got me. All of a sudden they're laughing with each other as if they're old friends. But seconds later, it's back to the "don't touch me" mess. Then more laughing.
The girl gets "tired" of it and tells the man to leave her alone. The man looks for someone else to mess with. Of course, he tried to make me the next target.
"Do you know where City Place is?" he asks me.
"No...I do not," I said, coldly. I immediately turned me head towards the window before he wanted to continue talking to me. Not in the mood.
The bus stops at the stop before the train station and both of them get off together. That was weird as hell. That mixed message crap is the reason why many of these loser men think it's okay to bother women the way they do. You either like that attention (lord knows why) or you don't. And if you don't like that attention, you better back that feeling up.
I then hop on the train to head to the Salvation Army in Wheaton, then proceed back home on the train.
Leaving the train station, some creepy man was hanging not too far from it.
"SUGA' WOMAN!" I hear. Crap, this creepy man is trying to talk to me.
"Suga' woman," he said, hovering too close. "Do you have any spare change?"
"'Suga' woman'?!" I said, in disbelief. "My name is not---"
"I said 'suga wooga,'" he corrects me. Even worse.
"My name is not 'suga' woman,' 'wooga,' or whatever other name you have for me," I said. "It's 'miss' or 'ma'am'!"
He walks away...creepy!
I was craving Fourth of July food, like hot dogs and hamburgers. There is a restaurant near me that has that stuff, but unfortunately it was closed for the holiday. I opted to grab some stuff from the market instead---hot dogs, chips, ice cream, and Izze clementine soda.
I went from having a bag of thrift store stuff to having a couple more bags that weighed me down. Regardless, I'm not the type to play "damsel in distress" and ask for a man to help me carry my stuff home. And speaking of such, I heard some clown go "shawty...SHAW-TAY! Can I carry yo' groceries, shaw-tay?" A large group of people were hanging out having a cookout, complete with firecrackers being set off and loud music being blasted. The call was coming from there.
I was going to ignore it and go on. I just didn't have the energy in me to talk back. Whatever energy I had was needed to get those things home! And it was raining too---I had all these bags and the umbrella to hold!
As I waited for the light to change, I heard "can I chill wit' you under yo' umbrella?" and look to see some fool, the same one who was just trying to "holla" at me, stuck his ugly-ass head under my umbrella. This guy had a doo-rag on that barely covered his unkempt, linty hair (dude---use an Afro pick or get some corn rows done please!!!), gold teeth in his mouth, and baggy pants sagging off his behind. Ugh. I never felt so much rage in my life. I took my umbrella and struck him hard with it.
"Stay the hell away from me!" I yelled.
"Man!" he said. "What's wrong with you---you got problems or somethin'?"
You try fighting off the constant harassment of men who catcall, get too damn close, say ignorant shit and don't know when to leave enough alone---then ask me again if I've got "problems"!!!
"I am tired of this shit!" I yelled. "I'm not trying to deal with creepy men trying to talk to me. Leave me the hell alone!"
The dude tried to step too close again. I put my umbrella up as if it were a sword in en garde position.
"Back the fuck up off me!" I yelled again. The dude gives up and goes away. The light changes and I cross.
I'm a mess. One of my locs keeps getting stuck on an umbrella spoke. In my haste to get home, I dropped the bag with the Izze sodas and it shatters. The rain washes it down a sidewalk drain.
"Whatever!" I moaned. Because I'm not one to litter, I was going to come back to clean it up when I dropped the rest of my stuff off, hoping I could get my stuff home.
At home, my neighbors, some punk-style people, were out popping firecrackers and mess, with them perilously landing too close to my side. (These are the same people who woke me up on a Sunday morning because they were doing basement work, breaking bricks and yelling "whoo-hoo!" the whole time.)
I put my groceries up, grabbed some latex gloves and a bag, and headed out in the pouring rain to clean up the mess the dropped sodas made, as well as replace those sodas. The rain was falling down harder. I found the mess and luckily it only took two pick ups to get most of it in the trash. Most of the damage was still in its bag which made it easy to get rid of.
I did not want to have to walk past the cookout clown and his crew again, but that market is two blocks away from them and on the same side of the street. I was never one to change my route because of fools on the street, but I just didn't want to deal. I crossed the street and walked on the opposite side, then crossed back when I was across from the market. They were about to close, and I got my replacement sodas just in time.
I opted to take a side street instead so I could avoid that fool and his crew going home. That was no help either since some middle-aged man in a silver car honked his horn at me, then stopped. This fool thought I was going to take a ride from him!
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" I yelled. He didn't seem to get the hint, so I mouthed "no!" while shaking my head. He drove off.
Of course, instead of neighbors being concerned, I heard "Homegirl is crazy. That chick is fucking crazy."
Yeah, that's right...dealing with that shit on a regular basis will make you crazy. Happy Fourth, all---hopefully yours has been better than mine.