When I decided to become a regular light-rail user, I expected to be harassed occasionally while riding alone or at night. But I never expected the sheer amount of comments I would receive about my body.
Men make remarks at least once a day during my two-way commute. Most of the time, the men saying these things aren’t the mentally unstable or erratic frequenters of the light rail. They’re the ones who physically resemble the men in my life whom I respect, trust and love.
Often, the comments are made by gaggles of young, rowdy guys just trying to draw attention to their bravado and defiance of manners and social norms. Although the most common and annoying, these are the least threatening.
Last week I stood in gym clothes as three men attempted to greet me in a way that was so obnoxious and absurd it was almost sitcom-like.
“Hey beautiful!” Jackass said.
“More like BOOTY-FUL! HA!” Super Jackass said.
“Damn, she’s got it going on. Look at those legs!” The King of Jackasses exclaimed.
I later retold this story to my friends and we laughed at the oh-so-clever language manipulation demonstrated by Super Jackass. But honestly, it was infuriating and degrading. If you’re going to harass me, harass me like I’m a person. Don’t just toss out unwanted comments about my butt — address me directly, gosh darn it.
But a majority of the remarks don’t have a funny spin. They are weird and gross, sometimes downright terrifying. On Monday, I was walking off the light rail to my internship, dressed in business casual attire. A man waiting to board the train winked at me and asked if he could come to my fancy office job and do me on my desk (in so many less appropriate words).
Looking back, I wish I’d stopped and verbally destroyed this man with an eloquent, indignant monologue about the absurdity and offensiveness of his request. But I never say anything. Not only am I usually too stunned, but I’m also scared of escalating the situation.
When I ride the light rail, I am a woman trying to achieve her goals of being an intelligent, driven and well-rounded person through school and work. But instead, I’m treated as a jumble of breasts, butts and legs that drifts in and out of these men’s sexual fantasies. I deserve more than that.
Despite my desires, I’m not always in control of these comments and their effects on my life. When I step off of the light rail at night and a bulky, masculine figure greets me by murmuring “Hey, gorgeous,” my safety is suddenly wrenched from my possession and placed in his hands.
I do what’s expected of me to fend off this potential threat — I firmly grasp pepper spray, pre-dial 911, walk quickly and confidently. But deep down, I know these tools will make little difference if he really wants to harm me. Ultimately, my survival depends on his decision to either follow me to the sparsely populated parking lot or watch me walk away. I’m certain this man knows he has the power to make me feel scared of what might happen next, yet he still shares his approval of my body despite it.
I’d like to say that these kinds of remarks fade away as soon as they’re said. But they don’t. They trail after me on my way to my car, settle in the curve of my passenger seat and slide in the cracks of my front door, unaltered by the sliding of the deadbolt. These words join the other unwanted comments about my beauty in the back of my brain, all of which make me feel vulnerable, frustrated and remarkably unbeautiful.
Light Rail Confidential is a column written by anonymous ASU students who share their experiences surrounding public transportation — namely, the light rail. It is managed by journalism junior Danika Worthington and illustrated by kinesiology junior Rachel Ganger.
Contact the columnist at ddworth1@asu.edu
