The Night? How 'bout the DAY.

So, after a great amount of sleep dep, I finally finished Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. Phew. If anyone else is going through the same and craves support...

But. Earlier today, while I was still pouring over the pages, I realized that I had an emergency need for chocolate if I was to continue. Unfortunately, panic attacks and similarly silly things had been impeding my mobility as of late, and though it had subsided to a manageable state again, I still did not feel toppers leaving my house without my "armour"--that is, black trench coat, spiked collar, dark sunglasses, hefty boots, etc.

I headed to a gas station, picked up some chocolate, and, in the low sunlight of the late afternoon, decided to trek home through the town "sentrum".

The legal drinking age for beer and wine in Norway is 18, and sale of alcohol is forbidden on Sundays, which means that Saturdays see mass clusters of drunk teenagers dotting the streets. This did not concern me; it is a regular part of the local culture, it was bright daylight out, and the walk across town is literally three minutes long. What did it matter to weave through some scattered groups of intoxicated high school students?

Well, as I was walking into the town center, I saw a noisy group of young men ahead of me, throwing various objects into the air and "ahoy"ing about something or another. A couple of them had split off and were chatting off to the side...

...and as I walked ahead, even though I was still in the relative distance, I heard their loud chatter suddenly drop several levels in volume. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw their boisterous movements slow... and even though they were not walking in my direction, nor even looking in it that I could see, my body's defensive system came to life, recognizing all of the signals.

It was like being back in my childhood again. I knew that they were about to corner me. They might not follow if I just turned and walked the other direction, but just like my younger self, I possess an unhealthily stubborn streak- like hell I am not going to walk down a public street in broad daylight because of a couple of men. Still, it was strange to feel how, even after all these years, my body responded so violently to an invisible force that I had not faced for years.

I walked on, and sure enough, even though they had been innocently wavering in no particular direction, they honed in on me like magnets as I got close enough, blocking my path and pressing themselves as close into my personal path as is humanly possible without actually touching someone.

I simply stopped, staring straight ahead. Both of the men were quite tall, and one of them was puffing out his chest to exaggerate his build. They stood so close that I smelled their sweat.

"Well well, what have we here."

(Ok- really? That's your line? Because it sure isn't original. I have NEVER been cornered with "what have we here" before (not). If a person is going to intimidate someone, one might think they'd invest some braincells into something marginally creative?)

I stood cold still, an impassive expression on my face as I stared past their arms at my destination. One of them had grabbed my arms to hold me in place, but let go after only a few moments, probably feeling he'd gotten his "stay there" across.

"Look at her."

"Are you emo?"

"Nah, she's not emo... She likes black metal."

"Neh, emo."

"Dude, no- look at her outfit. She likes black metal."

"Ooo. Things like Dimmu Borgir." He snickered. "Death Palace. Gorgoth."

"Yeah, things like Dimmu Borgir... yeah..." He decided to address the subject of this discussion. "You like those kinds of things?"

"Hm," I said ambiguously.

"You like death metal and things like that. Don't you." he pressed on.

"Of course," I said in a toneless voice.

"Yeeeah. You like things like Dimmu Borgir... and Death Palace... Right?"

"I like Dimmu, yes."

He spoke over me- "And Death Palace, right?"

"...Never heard of-"

"DEATH. PALACE. You don't like them?"

"I just moved to Norway," I said, to excuse my lack of knowledge and to steer the conversation off the current course, which I knew would just descend into increasingly aggressive redundancy.

"Oh? Where you move from?"

"America."

"Ohhh..." He held out his hand for me to shake. Instinctively, I took it- I see a hand outstretched, I tend to take it.

Then his companion practically fell onto me, wrapping me up into his arms and pressing his body close. I could smell the strong stench of alcohol in his breath, and I patted his back awkwardly, hoping that he would remove himself quickly. A brief "drunk hug" I can handle.

Thankfully, he did. They proceeded to bombard me with pointless questions, and when the bigger fellow asked my age, he too practically fell on me and gave me a very rubby hug.

I was steely and inexpressive the entire time. The smaller guy leaned in and hugged me briefly again before getting bored and wandering off, but the big guy kept talking to me, swaying on his drunk feet. Several times he held out his hand to shake, and I just took it each time, giving him a dull look for his drunkenness. When he fell forward onto me AGAIN and this time seemed to want to cuddle standing up more than hug, I had enough and pushed on his arms, saying, "I'm sorry, please don't touch me; I don't even know you."

Sliding his hands along my back and arms as he pulled back, he held them up and said, "That's fine, that's fine... So where are you headed?"

"H-"

"Home! Where do you live? Down here in sentrum...?"

"No. Further up." (Every house in town is "further up" from sentrum.)

He must have sensed that I was developing a bite to my tone, and coupled with the fact that I finally set some physical boundaries, he lost interest and wandered back off towards the group at large. As I turned my back, I heard them all ROAR into laughter and begin to toss my name around as though it were a dirty rag, humiliating and degrading me with words amongst themselves. Fine, whatever.

As I walked away, I hissed angrily at myself, "Why? Why did I feel that I had to be POLITE? Polite, and only if they, oh say, groped a breast, would it be appropriate for me to be anything but kind to them. Bull! I should have said, 'You're shit-faced; scram' and walked past them."

Why was I so lenient and stood there stoically through their hugs, their discussions about me as though I were a commodity, their rude and intrusive questions...

I complained about my behavior when I got home, and Liss Hege said, "Well, being passive before you are aggressive can be wise because you simply never know which of those types are going to react with anger if you start with the latter."

I tried to ask myself if a man in the same situation would feel obligated to be polite and passive, and I realized suddenly that a man would NOT be in that same situation. Not with that particular dynamic.

And I looked over my shoulder the whole way home, and locked my door for the first time since I got to this peaceful little town, because I was reminded once again that even in this mountain-niche little flowery paradise, there's plenty of assholes to be had to make a woman feel unsafe.

Ugh.