A Bug's Life

"Are you sure you'll be okay walking home?" asks anef, as I leave Red Wine Evening after midnight.
"If I don't make it, you'll read about it in the Cambridge Evening News!" I quip; she replies
"And if you do make it, I'll read about it in LiveJournal no doubt!"

By 00:20 I was walking up Rustat Road. I noticed two tall young men on a side road, pushing bicycles and talking a bit rowdily. They turned on to Rustat Road, about 10 metres behind me. I started to hear what they were saying: it was things like "I'm going to fist your cunt," and "I'm gaining on you" accompanied by little running noises. These comments were addressed to me, and did not let up. My gut feeling of the situation was that they were not going to assault me despite their words, but they were of a size and fitness which made them perfectly capable of overpowering me quickly if they wished. I could not think of anything, any killer argument or withering remark, which would get them to stop their intimidating comments; if I did say anything it would probably provoke or invite further interaction. So I ignored them. I ignored them while they drew up to me; I ignored them as they drew alongside me, matched my pace, and exaggeratedly imitated my gait; I ignored them while they spoke to me, at me, to each other about me; I just walked along, in my normal way. Their words (but not their tone) became very polite as we approached the cycle bridge and other people and it became clear that our paths were diverging. "It was nice to meet you," "Those are nice glasses," and "We will see you again soon."

I was left with the aftereffects of an adrenalin rush (despite staying calm, despite being sure they were not going to even touch me), feeling powerless. I can't win their game, I can't even play their game. I'm just a piece in their game. Anything I do (talk or run or cry or unconvincingly ignore), they'll take as evidence that they've won. All I can do is keep on walking, today and tomorrow and the day after, and not be afraid.

They were just behaving menacingly for fun, for no more than a couple of minutes. Worse things happen, and will have done to many people this night. But incidents and encounters like these keep on happening, and should not. This is what my night was like.

And it kept eating at me, and I shook, and was disappointed with myself for shaking, for the rest of the way home. Coldham's Common at midnight was a walk in the park compared to that. And now I'm home, and I'm alright. I hope you all are too.

EDIT 08:43: Aw, you guys :-) I'm much better this morning and off to Peterborough to see hawkida so can't reply to comments for a bit. And major_clanger phoned and let me decompress at him for a bit. But there is more To Be Said (about these things in general, not this specific incident).

My friends with small children may well be familiar with the That's Not My... series of Touchy Feely books, board books incorporating scraps of textured fabric. That's not my puppy... its coat is too rough. That's not my robot... its eyes are too shiny. That's not my fairy... her wings are too furry. (Incidentally, the dragon's claws have the same texture as the fairy's shoes. I wonder if her shoes are made from dragon?)

For those of you struggling with bureaucracy and the workplace, we have That's Not My Problem!
That's not my problem... it's a Health and Safety issue.
That's not my problem... it's more than my job's worth.
That's not my problem... it needs someone with more authority.
That's my problem... its deadline is too close!