I was walking to work the other day, down Sunset Boulevard. A guy gives me one of those loud cat-call-y sounding whistles from his car window.
I ignore him.
It is so easy to get in “ignore mode” in Los Angeles (or even in New York, really). People are constantly bothering you about things, so it’s easy to pass them by without thinking.
(I actually want to hopefully find a happy medium where I don’t spend my life talking to people on the street, but I don’t completely tune people out.
I’m actually trying this new thing where I carry a list of food pantries (with their hours) around in my backpack so that when someone asks for money, I can at least point them to food. But the plan is still pretty new, so whether I do it successfully remains to be soon)
But, I ignore this guy, because guys are always hollering on Sunset, or Hollywood, or lots of places in that area. Then he tries to get my attention again.
I sort of look over, wondering what’s happening. He’s making gestures. I can’t understand them. I thought he was asking if I wanted a ride (which people surprisingly do in L.A. kind of a lot if you’re walking – though I’ve never taken anyone up on it). I didn’t want a ride, so I kind of shook my head and went on walking.
He then whistles some more. I don’t know what’s happening, but I catch up to this guy walking down the street. He also seems a little distracted by this dude. Then, sidewalk guy tells me that car guy is not heckling, but helping – or at least trying to help me if I’ll let him. My skirt had rolled up underneath my book-bag. And my underwear was just out there for the world to see.
(Curious people – it was red and Tommy Hilfiger. So, at least it was cute…)
I fixed my skirt, profusely apologized to car guy as best as I could to someone a lane over from the sidewalk, and I embarrassingly made my way to work.