Don’t catcall me

So just the other day I was waiting for the elevator on the 9th floor. It was time to go home. I had on my work uniform. 3 elevators and a constant wait time of what seemed like hours. Elevator to my left opens up. A whole bunch of male construction workers and I politely decline with a “I’ll take the next one”. A mere 6 second before the elevator doors close again, delivering them to their desired floor, I get catcalled. Let that sink in. In 2017. In my work uniform. On my way home, so roughly at 3h30 in the afternoon, I get a few of the below

– whistled at

– yor girl you look sexy

– ow girl what’s your name

– naai you can get in

Now, these male construction workers were roughly aged between 35 and 45. Not to say I don’t expect it but perhaps from the younger, more immature generation? The first thought I had as these elevator doors closed and I was forced to wait for what now seemed like another 2 hours was 

– Oh, just fuck off

– How immature

Sidenote: I have been single for 4 years and there has been no interest from any species. Also, I have a almost 5 year old. 

Will she have to endure this, years down the line? Will her kids have to endure this? Generally, I have mastered the art of ignoring and when I do get catcalled, which is almost never, I turn my head up and ignore. Call me a bitch or sturvy but I’d much rather be sturvy than entartaining; to catcallers, that is

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