This is how I feel about the following story

You know what I fucking hate? When I’m driving down Sunset Blvd., or any Blvd., or any street, and I’m stopped in traffic just long enough for some douchebag in a truck to pull up next to me and peer down my shirt or at my legs. It makes me feel sick, it makes me feel angry, and it makes me feel like I am completely trapped. And it makes me feel like I have to adjust the way I’m sitting - in MY OWN CAR - so that some asshole doesn’t have a good view.

Well, today I came up with the only defense I could think of. First of all, it’s about 95 degrees here in L.A., so I was wearing shorts. My first mistake, I guess. I also like to drive with my leg propped up on the seat (which Sara enjoys mocking me for, just so you know). But whatever, it’s comfortable.

So I’m stopped at a red light behind another car at Sunset and Orange, and I’m singing along to Tom Petty with my window rolled down, and the next thing I know this truck comes to a slow, skeezy halt right the fuck next to me on the left. It was also, for the record, a full car’s length away from the light, with no one in front of it. So they were stopped directly next to my window. And, it quickly became obvious, they were stopped for the sole reason of the passenger peering down from his seat and into my lap.

I looked up at him, and rolled a few inches forward. He rolled forward too. I rolled a few inches more. He did too.

Finally, just wanting to sing along and keep my leg propped up on the seat in peace, I glanced in my rearview, saw no one there, and rolled a few inches backwards.

They did not follow suit. However, once the light turned green, they proceeded to drive ahead at such a slow pace that it became almost impossible for me not to pass them. I trailed behind for a few minutes, but I mean, they must have been going less than ten miles an hour. And all I could think was, I’m going to drive past them, and they’re going to call me a bitch, or whistle, or make some comment that makes me sick to my stomach and mad. I don’t want to deal with this.

So instead of dealing with it, I decided to turn off the road. Way out of my way, hitting more traffic, and making my drive that much longer.

And I am pissed! Why should I have to veer off the road because some asshole thinks he has the right to harass me from his car? And why is it that I’ve had to experience this kind of thing so many times that I already know how it plays out?

The girls over at Hollaback NYC definitely have the right idea for what to do about fuckwads like this. I don’t know, maybe it’s time we created a Hollaback L.A.

Anyone else have stories like this to share?