Do I LOOK Like A Whore?

Interesting experience yesterday. I was supposed to meet Paul, an old friend, for dinner at TopTwins Faze II, a Nigerian restaurant on Georgia Avenue in DC. I had spent the entire day wondering if there was a "Faze I" anywhere else in the world and was looking forward to asking someone at the restaurant--even though they would probably have shot me either a bewildered or a withering look and gone on their business, muttering curses under their breath...would probably have spat in my food, for good measure--so you can imagine my utter disappointment when I got to TopTwins's door and discovered it was closed! My sister, who gave me a ride, was very saddened by the news as well. She had given me her (very specific) order about 4 hours earlier, so you can imagine how excited she was that I was planning to dine there. Anyway, so my buddy hadn't shown up yet, but I told my sister that I'd be fine and he'd be there in five minutes, so she could go on her merry way. I don't know WHY I didn't think anything of the fact that she hesitated for a considerable amount of time before agreeing to drive off. But after she left, I began to look around and take in my surroundings. Only then did I realize that I was in "the ghetto".

Now, I hesitate to call it that only because it's hard to tell in DC sometimes whether you are truly in a dangerous place. I figure this couldn't be all that bad cuz it was still in NW and there are clearly parts of DC that are much worse, but when I looked up and saw a lot of very...interesting-looking people and stores, I tensed up a little bit and put on my best mean face, figuring that I'd be left alone as I usually am when I'm not smiling. And it worked. For the first three minutes.

It started slowly. A man walked up in my direction and proceeded to lean on the trash can in front of me. Actually, he was almost leaning INTO it. I was disgusted, but I figured I was safe so long as he didn't turn around and try to touch me or something. So I stood. Shortly thereafter, more men started showing up, some walking into the liquor store beside me (of all places for TopTwins Faze II to be located), some walking past me. The trouble didn't start until one of them came out of the liquor store and, as he passed me, said, "You're real pretty," which I rewarded with a look of irritation that stopped him from making any additional comments. But he had already set off the cosmic forces. The next guy that came to the liquor store saw me and said, "Heyyy! You're pretty, come here," and motioned with his finger for me to come to him. To say that I was shocked would be an understatement. I fumbled for words and a tone to convey how insulted I was; the best I could come up with was, "Do not talk to me like that!" He said, "Come here!", motioned again with his finger. I said, "No! Don't talk to me like that!" He instantly lost interest and walked into the store, leaving me huffing and puffing outside. The guy in the trash can was pretty amused.

I tried to make myself seem busy by talking on the phone, but nobody I called could talk to me. Meanwhile, I had noticed a group of crackheads about half a block away making their way towards me. I started calling on Jesus, Sango, Amadiura, Captain Spock--I just didn't know how I would deal with all of them if they all decided to come to me at the same time. They were a most intriguing, motley group; they actually seemed organized, like all they were missing was a set of matching members-only jackets. Actually, they reminded me of the monsters in the Thriller video: one short and tiny one with a cap, one very tall one without shoes, a chubby woman with short hair, a skinny woman in a purple T-shirt who wouldn't (couldn't?) stop dancing, and a burly one in a tight T-shirt that was once black and now looked like dirt caking his blubbery body. They all stopped just short of me, except Tiny and Slim, who walked past me and stopped to my left, a few yards away from me. They all looked at me with interest. I did my best to appear disinterested and unfazed, but I still walked to the edge of the curb so that I could run into the street and get hit by a bus if a more dangerous (and potentially more embarrassing) incident seemed imminent. I also made a mental note--for the umpteenth time--to get that switchblade I've been meaning to buy for three years now.

Meanwhile, more "normal" looking men had gathered on the street and around the liquor. Some of them greeted the crackheads by name or nickname--which was worse, I don't know--and others just stood there and ogled me. One of them, a fat Latino, walked up to me and said hello. I ignored him. He leaned heavily against a nearby wall and said, "How you doing? How you been?" I'm thinking, ah ah, have you seen me before?? But I said, "Don't stand near me and don't talk to me." It was then that I realized that he was drunk off his face. He says, "Why not? You got a problem?" I repeated myself, tried to increase the level of firmness in my voice, which was hard to do without yelling, which I definitely didn't want to do, lest I awaken the crackheads' "senses". At the time, I wasn't entirely sure whether they could actually see me, or maybe they just weren't sure if I was alive or that I existed. I wasn't going to be the one to prove to them that I was indeed there. The drunk one then said, "What, you don't like me or something? Come on, let's go somewhere." I didn't need any further confirmation about what was going on on that block. It hit me like an anvil falling from the sky: the "normal" men were gathering in the hopes that I was actually the new girl on the block and were just waiting for me to break down and "go somewhere" with one of them, and the crackheads were wondering when I was going to stop playing like I was somebody else and join them on the pipe. I added pepper spray and/or mace to that mental list of weaponry I was keeping.

Then I called Paul. "Where are you, Paul?" I asked. I'm surprised the words formed clearly through my clenched teeth. The joviality in his voice further infuriated me. "I'm three blocks away, I'll be right there!" I still had the presence of mind not to cuss him out, but I made sure to tell him to hurry, though I didn't tell him why he needed to be in a hurry. I just needed to get in his car and be whisked away from my impending abduction, rape, and murder. The crackheads were closing in, and I was starting to feel suffocated and unsafe. As soon as I got off the phone, a man with a giant, glittery ring on his right pinky finger and a cell phone in the other smiled too-widely at me and said, "Hey, you need a ride?" I all but screamed "NO!" at him, and started looking around wildly for an oncoming bus. Just my luck--Georgia Avenue was almost empty at that moment.

Then my guardian angel gave me a break, and allowed Terhemen call me. I have never been so happy to hear my phone ring, and his voice on the other end. Unfortunately, I was too agitated to express my joy and then I had no time to show my gratitude and unload my worries because Paul chose that moment to suddenly appear beside me. I hurriedly got Terhemen off the phone (sorry, my dear), said hello to Paul and started walking away quickly in the direction he appeared from. "Man, am I happy to see you! Where did you park?" I asked. "Oh, I walked!" he said, beaming down at me. I didn't appreciate the levity with which he said it, nor could I control the level of incredulity with which I said, "You what?!" He didn't even seem to notice. "Yeah, it was such a great day, I just thought I'd walk and I'd have been here sooner, but someone thought it'd be fun to give me the wrong directions, so I've been walking away from you for the past fifteen minutes!"

I rubbed my forehead wearily, inwardly asked Buddha to give me strength, and heaved a sigh loaded with anger, relief, confusion and prayer. Then, as I recalled the fear that I no longer felt, I decided to leave the anger right there in front of TopTwins Faze II and count my blessings. I hadn't been robbed, I hadn't been physically touched. There was some damage done to my dignity, but it wasn't permanent and ultimately, I know that I couldn't have resembled any kind of whore since I was wearing a loose, loose cotton top with plenty of coverage and long, long jeans--not a curve was hugged yesterday--it's not my fault those drunk assholes were hoping beyond hope that I was something I was not. I looked up at Paul, smiled a little and proceeded with the small talk: "So, how you been? How about that match today...."