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Stop catcalling, please

Anya Cohen

I am just going to come out and say it: I am sick of being ogled, badgered and yelled at whilst walking on Beall Avenue. While the first perpetrators that come to your mind may be the town residents who seem to get off on cruising their heavy bass bearing, under glow sporting cars down the street, I’m much more annoyed with an entirely different crowd: First-year boys.

I live way up on north campus. As a matter of fact, I live as far north as you can get and still be considered living on campus. This means that I need to walk by the  cluster of first-year dorms multiple times a day. While the town residents plague me by day with their uncannily large eyes staring out of their car window, it’s the firstyear boys that pester me by night with their cat-calling from Bornhuetter. “Ay girl, where you going? Don’t be shy! Ay girl!” I’ve heard this statement, or some incredibly uncreative variation, far too many times this year.

I’m not sure if this has always been a problem or if I’ve just lived too far south on campus to notice it in the past. God knows that first-years can be difficult. They make the Pop’s Sub Stop line really long because they can’t figure out what to order, they pass out drunk in weird places around campus and dance in a disgusting manner at the UG. I could forgive every single one of the first year’s shortcomings if they would just put a stop to the Beall Avenue harassment.

And it doesn’t just happen to me. It also doesn’t just happen to girls. The other day I was walking back home a little after dark and I saw a handful of boys outside of Compton Hall physically blockading a boy who was trying to walk. They were jumping around and giving the kid a really hard time. However, that was before they saw me and yelled, “Nice legs. When do they open?” to my sweatpant covered stems.

First-year boys, this harassment needs to stop. Not only is it annoying to be the recipient, it reflects poorly on  you. Do you think after you beckon me crudely from your dorm room window, I’ll actually come in? Or that by asking me when my legs open, I’ll decide that the time to open them is now? None of these things will happen. No one will do them. Ever. I promise. So stop.

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