Photo by UggBoy via Flickr

I went out alone last week for a pre-Labor Day drink. It was cool; I had fun. All was well except for one thing: getting macked on from a person riding—not parked—inside of a car. Yep, moving. Utilizing gasoline. En Route. And, twice in one night at that.

Y’all guys still doing that? Is that still hot in the streets? My bad; I didn’t know. I guess Sunday night was my rude slap back into reality from the dreamland that I was living in where men walk up to you and say something simple, friendly and non-threatening like, “Hey,” or “I saw you so I figured I’d come say ‘Hi.’” That was my last night living it up in dreamland because I was snapped back into Southwestern reality like the adjustment on a high school kid’s designed-to-be-retro ball cap. 

Clearly those men don’t understand how unsettling it was to be walking in the dark and have a car outfitted in all black everything roll up on you at five miles per hour. I borderline considered fight or flight. The first thing through my mind was that I always thought people got snatched by ‘kidnapping vans’ with sliding doors and two black squares for windows on the rear, not by slick-looking Dodge Chargers and Chrysler 300s with rims that shine in the moonlight like Batman’s calling card! Like my friend noted: that approach is frightening on our side, and shows laziness on your part. (Not to mention it reeks of the remnants of street harassment.)

A word to the fellas: I’m grown, and you are too. Next time you try to ‘holla’ at me from the passenger side of your best friend’s ride, I hope God allows the unlocked door to swing open and you fall out onto the concrete.

That is all.