Me too

I’m not going to write about every time. I’m only going to talk about the last time.

The last time, I was on my way to work. It’s a Friday evening, and there’s a lot of pubs between me and my destination.

It wasn’t some awful event. Some guy threw his arm over my shoulder and tried to drag me towards his friends, away from the main street. As harassment goes, it could have been a hell of a lot worse. I mean, he wasn’t trying to hurt me, even though he wouldn’t let go. It was a bit scary when he tried to follow me after I ducked out from under his arm, but he gave up after a few minutes. He was just some guy who’d had a few too many and thought he was being friendly.

I’m writing about it not just because he had no clue how frightening a giant he was, but because this was a crowded street. People going home from work, people going out with friends, people just out and about. It was quite plain I didn’t want to go with him to the little alley with all his friends. It ought to have been fairly obvious I didn’t want him to follow me…

So why didn’t anyone try stop him?